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FRANgOIS   PIERRE   GUILLAUME   GUIZOT^ 

Photogravure  frmn  a  tortrait  painted  hy  Delaroche. 


Copyright,  1899, 
By  the  colonial  PRESS. 


ti  •";  »^ 


SPECIAL  INTRODUCTION 


FRANCOIS  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot  was  born  at  Nismes, 
the  fourth  of  October,  1787.  His  father  was  a  dis- 
tinguished advocate  of  that  city,  who  took  a  prominent 
part  in  the  revolution  which  overthrew  the  throne  of  Louis 
XVI.  In  the  spring  of  1794,  having  protested  against  the  vio- 
lence of  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  he  died  upon  the  scaffold. 
The  care  of  Madame  Guizot  provided  the  boy  with  a  classical 
education  in  the  schools  of  the  city  of  Geneva,  and  at  the  age 
of  nineteen  he  went  to  Paris  to  study  law.  But  he  had  no  taste 
for  the  profession,  and,  with  the  help  of  the  Minister  from 
Switzerland,  his  friend  and  patron,  he  devoted  himself  to  lit- 
erary pursuits.  At  the  age  of  twenty-five  he  was  appointed 
adjunct  Professor  of  History  in  the  University  of  Paris,  and 
two  years  later  accepted  the  position  of  general  secretary  in  the 
Bureau  of  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior.  Henceforth  his  life  was 
divided  between  history  and  politics,  and  in  both  he  achieved 
the  highest  distinction. 

Let  us  briefly  review  his  political  career.  Before  he  was 
thirty  he  was  an  active  agent  in  negotiating  the  terms  for 
re-establishing  the  monarchy  under  Louis  XVIII.  On  the 
accession  of  Louis  Philippe  in  1830,  he  was  called  to  assist 
in  forming  a  Cabinet  and  became  Minister  of  the  Interior. 
Compelled  to  resign  in  a  few  months,  he  was  elected  deputy, 
and  sustained  the  cause  of  constitutional  government  in  the 
National  Assembly.  Two  years  later  he  was  recalled  to  the 
royal  counsels  as  Minister  of  Public  Instruction.  During  the 
few  years  of  his  administration  he  did  much  for  public  educa- 
tion in  France,  and  it  is  said  that  the  germinal  ideas  of  all 
progress  made  since  are  to  be  found  in  his  suggestions  and 
enterprises.  He  reformed  the  primary  schools,  and  put  new 
spirit  into  their  conduct  by  a  law  which  established  over  ten 
thousand  primary  schools  in  destitute  parishes.    He  planned 


iv  GUIZOT 

the  creation  of  four  universities  to  be  centres  of  light  and 
learning  for  the  provinces  of  France.  He  made  great  efforts 
for  the  advancement  of  historical  science  and  the  improvement 
of  historical  teaching.  The  Society  of  French  History  was 
founded  by  him,  and  he  began  the  publication  by  the  govern- 
ment of  the  great  Collection  des  Documents  relatifs  a  Vhistoire 
de  France. 

When  the  fall  of  the  Cabinet  compelled  his  retirement,  he 
resumed  his  literary  labors,  and  in  1836  was  elected  a  member 
of  the  French  Academy.  It  was  during  this  period  that  he 
was  invited  by  the  American  Government  to  edit  a  French 
edition  of  the  "  Letters  of  Washington."  In  1839,  his  friends 
having  been  recalled  to  power,  Guizot  was  appointed  Minister 
to  England.  He  was  the  first  Protestant  sent  to  England  as 
Minister  since  the  time  of  Henry  IV.  He  had  written  ably 
upon  English  history.  He  had  been  known  in  politics  as  a 
liberal  conservative,  a  defender  of  constitutional  monarchy 
against  despotism  and  radicalism.  The  reception  given  to 
him  was,  therefore,  very  warm.  But  within  eighteen  months 
he  was  recalled  to  enter  a  new  Cabinet.  He  took  the  portfolio 
of  foreign  affairs,  and  for  seven  years  was  practically  the 
leader  of  the  French  Government.  His  rule  ended  in  disaster, 
for  both  his  foreign  and  his  home  policy  were  definitely  re- 
jected by  the  French  people.  In  foreign  affairs  he  exerted  an 
influence  which  in  1845  caused  him  to  be  hailed  by  a  com- 
petent observer  as  "  the  man  to  whom  perhaps  more  than  to 
any  other  it  is  owing  that  Europe  is  now  at  peace."  This 
policy  of  concession  was  very  unpopular  in  France.  But  it 
was  the  home  policy  of  Guizot,  adhered  to  with  the  obstinacy 
of  unchangeable  conviction  unwilling  to  make  any  adjust- 
ment to  new  circumstances  or  thoughts,  which  brought  about 
his  fall  from  power,  and  dragged  down  with  him  the  French 
King.  The  ministry,  although  continuously  supported  by  a 
majority  of  the  Chambers,  steadily  lost  the  confidence  of  the 
nation,  and  this  situation  made  evident  the  narrow  basis  of  the 
French  throne. 

In  1842,  one-third  of  the  members  of  the  Chamber  of  Depu- 
ties were  salaried  functionaries  of  the  government,  and  the 
representatives  of  France  had  been  chosen  by  about  225,000 
electors.  Ten  attempts  to  change  this  situation  were  made  in 
six  years,  and  lost,  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.     Then  the 


SPECIAL  INTRODUCTION  v 

opposition  organized  a  popular  protest,  which  in  a  few  months 
developed  into  threatened  insurrection.  Guizot  urged  the  king 
to  establish  his  authority  by  the  use  of  the  army.  Louis  Phi- 
lippe hesitated,  and  when  the  streets  of  Paris  were  filled  with 
masses  of  people  shouting  "  Long  live  Reform!  "  *'  Down  with 
Guizot!"  he  abdicated.  Guizot  fled  to  England,  whence  he 
returned  the  next  year. 

He  retired  to  his  country  place  of  Val-Richer,  in  Normandy, 
and  bore  his  fall  with  the  utmost  dignity.  Excluded  from 
politics,  he  devoted  himself  to  literary  labors,  to  the  cause  of 
public  education,  and  to  the  interests  of  the  French  Protestant 
Church.  In  September,  1874,  when  he  was  eighty-six,  it  be- 
came evident  that  death  was  at  hand.  "  Adieu,  my  daughter," 
he  said  to  his  child  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  his  bed.  "  Au 
revoir,  my  father,"  she  answered.  The  dying  man  raised  him- 
self on  the  pillows :  "  No  one  is  more  sure  of  it  than  I,"  he 
said,  and  sank  back  into  silence  and  death. 

Few  men  who  have  achieved  marked  distinction  have  owed 
so  little  to  circumstances  and  so  much  to  industry  and  native 
ability  as  Guizot.  He  won  by  the  gravity  of  his  manners  and 
the  evidences  of  sound  judgment  the  friends  to  whom  he  owed 
his  early  opportunities  for  distinction.  His  advancement  in 
the  service  of  the  public  educational  system  of  France  was 
more  than  justified  by  his  services.  His  entry  into  political 
life  was  made  natural,  and  almost  inevitable,  by  the  manifest 
power  of  his  political  pamphlets,  and  he  developed  by  labor 
and  practice  a  dignified  and  sonorous  eloquence  which  made 
Rachel  say  she  would  gladly  have  acted  in  tragedy  with  him. 
His  rise  to  the  head  of  the  French  Government  was  the  natural 
result  of  great  public  services,  of  unwavering  fidelity  to  his 
political  principles,  and  the  ability  with  which  he  advocated 
them. 

He  won  in  letters  a  distinction  as  great  as  that  which  he 
achieved  in  politics.  And  it  is  more  enduring.  Few  historians 
would  Include  M.  Guizot  among  the  list  of  the  great  ministers 
of  France.  But  still  fewer  critics  would  be  willing  to  exclude 
him  from  the  list  of  the  great  writers  of  France.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  he  anticipated  this  result  of  his  labors,  or  whether 
he  would  have  been  pleased  If  he  had,  for  it  has  been  said  of 
him  with  some  justice  that  "  his  books  of  history  were  never 
to  him  anything  but  a  means  of  action,  a  method  of  spreading 


Vi  GUIZOT 

his  ideas."  This  attitude,  perhaps,  imposed  upon  his  treatment 
of  history  something  of  the  same  narrow  horizon  which  Hm- 
ited  his  political  usefulness  by  limiting  his  political  sympathies. 
In  the  great  spectacle  of  European  history  nothing  really  in- 
terested him  except  in  so  far  as  it  contributed  to  the  rise  of 
the  middle  classes,  and  the  development  of  the  sort  of  govern- 
ment which  gave  them  the  largest  political  influence.  His 
writing  of  history  was  Hke  his  political  conduct,  a  logical  de- 
velopment of  his  political  principles. 

The  list  of  his  writings  is  a  long  one.  It  includes :  "  A  His- 
tory of  Civilization  in  France,'*  four  volumes ;  "  Washington," 
six  volumes ;  "  A  History  of  the  English  Revolution,"  six  vol- 
umes ;  "  Parliamentary  History  of  France,"  five  volumes ; 
"  Memoirs,"  eight  volumes ;  "  History  of  France,"  five  vol- 
umes ;  "  Meditations  and  Moral  Studies,"  "  Shakespeare  and 
His  Times,"  "  Corneille  and  His  Times,"  "  Love  in  Marriage." 
The  essay  upon  the  "  History  of  Civilization  in  Europe  "  is  the 
best  known  and  most  often  reprinted  of  his  works,  and  shows 
plainly  some  of  the  marked  characteristics  of  his  historical 
method.  It  was  written  as  an  introduction  to  his  larger  and 
more  valuable  work,  "  The  History  of  Civilization  in  France," 
and  first  delivered  as  a  course  of  lectures  at  the  Sorbonne  in 
Paris. 

These  works  of  Guizot  were  introduced  to  English  readers 
in  1845  by  an  article  from  John  Stuart  Mill,  in  the  "  Edinburgh 
Review."  He  spoke  of  them  as  "  speculations,  which  even  in 
this  unfinished  state  may  be  ranked  with  the  most  valuable 
contributions  yet  made  to  universal  history,"  and  points  out 
that,  on  such  a  topic  as  the  cause  of  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  "  the  difference  between  what  we  learn  from  Gibbon 
and  what  we  learn  from  Guizot  is  a  measure  of  the  progress 
of  historical  inquiry  between  them." 

If  a  writer  with  the  capacity  of  Gibbon,  or  even  of  Guizot, 
for  the  constructive  treatment  of  large  themes,  should  write 
a  history  of  European  civilization  nozu,  the  diflference  between 
his  work  and  that  here  printed  would  undoubtedly  be  a  meas- 
ure of  the  progress  of  historical  inquiry  in  the  last  fifty  years. 
For  the  increase  of  historical  knowledge  causes  the  master- 
pieces of  one  generation  to  be  republished  with  foot-notes  for 
the  next.  Many  modern  historians  would  question  the  pos- 
sibility of  sketching  the  history  of  European  civilization  in 


SPECIAL  INTRODUCTION  vii 

an  essay.  The  increase  of  knowledge,  the  change  in  historical 
method,  the  prevailing  taste  in  some  leading  schools  of  his- 
tory, would  lead  many  others  to  criticise  the  historical  work 
of  Guizot  in  various  respects.  But  of  those  qualified  to  criti- 
cise the  essay  on  the  "  History  of  Civilization  in  Europe,"  very 
few  would  undertake  to  replace  by  a  better  one  the  only  short 
sketch  of  the  general  progress  of  European  history  which  has 
ever  achieved  any  large  measure  of  fame. 

Paul  van  Dyke. 


CONTENTS 

FIRST   LECTURE. 

PAGE 

Object  of  the  course — History  of  European  civilization — Part  taken 
by  France  in  the  civilization  of  Europe — Civilization  a  fit  sub- 
ject for  narrative — It  is  the  most  general  fact  in  history — The 
ordinary  and  popular  meaning  of  the  word  civilization — Two 
leading  facts  constitute  civilization:  i.  The  development  of 
society;  2.  The  development  of  the  individual — Demonstration — 
These  two  facts  are  necessarily  connected  the  one  with  the 
other,  and  sooner  or  later  the  one  produces  the  other — Is  the 
destiny  of  man  limited  wholly  within  his  actual  social  condi- 
tion?— The  history  of  civilization  may  be  exhibited  and  consid- 
ered under  two  points  of  view — Remarks  on  the  plan  of  the 
course — The  present  state  of  men's  minds,  and  the  prospects  of 
civilization i 


SECOND   LECTURE. 

Purpose  of  the  lecture — Unity  of  ancient  civilization — Variety  of 
modern  civilization — Its  superiority — Condition  of  Europe  at 
the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire — Preponderance  of  the  towns — 
Attempt  at  political  reform  by  the  emperors — Rescript  of 
Honorius  and  of  Theodosius  II — Power  of  the  name  of  the 
Empire — The  Christian  church — The  various  stages  through 
which  it  had  passed  at  the  fifth  century — The  clergy  exercising 
municipal  functions — Good  and  evil  influence  of  the  church — 
The  barbarians — They  introduce  into  the  modern  world  the 
sentiments  of  personal  independence,  and  the  devotion  of  man 
to  man — Summary  of  the  diiTerent  elements  of  civilization  in 
the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century 18 


THIRD   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — All  the  various  systems  pretend  to  be  legiti- 
mate— What  is  political  legitimacy? — Coexistence  of  all  sys- 
tems of  government  in  the  fifth  century — Instability  in  the 
condition  of  persons,  properties,  and  institutions — There  were 
two  causes  of  this :  one  material,  the  continuation  of  the  inva- 
sion; the  other  moral,  the  selfish  sentiment  of^  individuality 
peculiar  to  the  barbarians — The  germs  of  civilization  have  been 
the  necessity  for  order,  the  recollections  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
the  Christian  church,  and  the  barbarians — Attempts  at  organ- 
ization by  the  barbarians,  by  the  towns,  by  the  church  of  Spain, 
by  Charlemagne,  and  Alfred — The  German  and  Arabian  inva- 
sions cease— The  feudal  system  begins 37 

ix 


X  GUIZOT 

FOURTH    LECTURE. 

PACK 

Object  of  the  lecture — Necessary  alliance  between  facts  and  doc- 
trines— Preponderance  of  the  country  over  the  towns — Organ- 
ization of  a  small  feudal  society — Influence  of  feudalism  upon 
the  character  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief,  and  upon  the  spirit  of 
family — Hatred  of  the  people  towards  the  feudal  system — The 
priest  could  do  little  for  the  serfs — Impossibility  of  regularly 
organizing  feudalism:  i.  No  powerful  authority;  2.  No  public 
power;  3.  Difficulty  of  the  federative  system — The  idea  of  the 
right  of  resistance  inherent  in  feudalism — Influence  of  feudalism 
favorable  to  the  development  of  the  individual,  unfavorable  to 
social  order 53 

FIFTH   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Religion  is  a  principle  of  association — Con- 
straint is  not  of  the  essence  of  government — Conditions  of  the 
legitimacy  of  a  government:  i.  The  power  must  be  in  the 
hands  of  the  most  worthy;  2.  The  liberty  of  the  governed  must 
be  respected — The  church  being  a  corporation  and  not  a  caste, 
fulfilled  the  first  of  these  conditions — Of  the  various  methods 
of  nomination  and  election  that  existed  therein — It  wanted  the 
other  condition,  on  account  of  the  illegitimate  extension  of 
authority,  and  on  account  of  the  abusive  employment  of  force — 
Movement  and  liberty  of  spirit  in  the  bosom  of  the  church — 
Relations  of  the  church  with  princes — The  independence  of 
spiritual  power  laid  down  as  a  principle — Pretensions  and  efforts 
of  the  church  to  usurp  the  temporal  power 70 


SIXTH   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture— Separation  of  the  governing  and  the  gov- 
erned party  in  the  church — Indirect  influence  of  the  laity  upon 
the  clergy — The  clergy  recruited  from  all  conditions  of  society — 
Influence  of  the  church  upon  the  public  order  and  upon  legis- 
lation— The  penitential  system — The  development  of  the 
human  mind  is  entirely  theological — The  church  usually  ranges 
itself  on  the  side  of  power — Not  to  be  wondered  at;  the  aim  of 
religions  is  to  regulate  human  liberty — Different  states  of  the 
church,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century— ist.  The  imperial 
church — 2d.  The  barbaric  church;  development  of  the  separat- 
ing principle  of  the  two  powers;  the  monastic  order — 3d.  The 
feudal  church;  attempts  at  organization;  want  of  reform; 
Gregory  VII — The  theocratical  church — Regeneration  of  the 
spirit  of  inquiry;  Abailard — Movement  of  the  boroughs — No 
connection  between  these  two  facts 86 


SEVENTH    LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Comparative  picture  of  the  state  of  the  bor- 
oughs at  the  twelfth  and  the  eighteenth  century— Double  ques- 
tion— 1st.  The  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs — State  of  the 
towns  from  the  fifth  to  the  tenth  century— Their  decay  and 
regeneration — Communal   insurrection — Charters— Social   and 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAGB 

moral  effects  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs — 2d.  In- 
ternal government  of  the  boroughs — Assemblies  of  the  peo- 
ple— Magistrates — High  and  low  burghership — Diversity  of  the 
state  of  the  boroughs  in  the  different  countries  of  Europe 104 


EIGHTH   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture— Glance  at  the  general  history  of  European 
civilization — Its  distinctive  and  fundamental  character — Epoch 
at  which  that  character  began  to  appear — State  of  Europe  from 
the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century — Character  of  the  cru- 
sades— Their  moral  and  social  causes — These  causes  no  longer 
existed  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century — Effects  of  the  cru- 
sades upon  civilization 121 


NINTH   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Important  part  taken  by  royalty  in  the  his- 
tory of  Europe,  and  in  the  history  of  the  world — True  causes  of 
this  importance — Two-fold  point  of  view  under  which  the  insti- 
tution of  royalty  should  be  considered — ist.  Its  true  and  perma- 
nent nature — It  is  the  personification  of  the  sovereignty  of 
right — With  what  limits — 2d.  Its  flexibility  and  diversity — 
European  royalty  seems  to  be  the  result  of  various  kinds  of 
royalty — Of  barbarian  royalty — Of  imperial  royalty — Of  re- 
ligious royalty — Of  feudal  royalty — Of  modern  royalty,  prop- 
erly so  called,  and  of  its  true  character 135 


TENTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Attempts  to  reconcile  the  various  social  ele- 
ments of  modern  Europe,  and  to  make  them  live  and  act  in 
common,  in  one  society,  and  under  one  central  power — ist. 
Attempt  at  theocratical  organization — Why  it  failed — Four  prin- 
cipal obstacles — Faults  of  Gregory  VII — Reaction  against  the 
domination  of  the  church — On  the  part  of  the  people — On  the 
part  of  the  sovereigns — 2d.  Attempt  at  republican  organiza- 
tion— Italian  republics — Their  defects — Towns  in  the  south  of 
France — Crusade  of  the  Albigenses — Swiss  confederation — 
Boroughs  of  Flanders  and  the  Rhine — Hanseatic  league — 
Struggle  between  the  feudal  nobility  and  the  boroughs — 3d. 
Attempt  at  a  mixed  organization — States-general  of  France — 
Cortes  of  Spain  and  Portugal — English  Parliament — Peculiar 
state  of  Germany — 111  success  of  all  their  attempts — From  what 
causes — General  tendency  of  Europe i^ 


ELEVENTH  LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Special  character  of  the  fifteenth  century — 
Progressive  centralization  of  nations  and  governments — ist.  Of 
France — Formation  of  the  national  French  spirit — Government 
of  Louis  XI — 2d.  Of  Spain — 3d.  of  Germany — 4th.  Of  Eng- 
land— 5th.  Of  Italy — Origin  of  the  external  relations  of  states 
and  of  diplomacy — Movement  in  religious  ideas — Attempt  at 


xii  GUIZOT 

PAGS 

aristocratical  reform — Council  of  Constance  and  Basle — At- 
tempt at  popular  reform — John  Huss — Regeneration  of  litera- 
ture— Admiration  for  antiquity — Classical  school,  or  free- 
thinkers— General  activity — Voyages,  discoveries,  inventions — 
Conclusion 162 


TWELFTH    LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Difficulty  of  distinguishing  general  facts  in 
modern  history — Picture  of  Europe  in  the  sixteenth  century — 
Danger  of  precipitate  generalization — Various  causes  assigned 
to  the  Reformation — Its  dominant  character  was  the  insurrec- 
tion of  the  human  mind  against  absolute  power  in  the  intel- 
lectual order — Evidences  of  this  fact — Fate  of  the  Reformation 
in  different  countries — Weak  side  of  the  Reformation — The 
Jesuits — Analogy  between  the  revolutions  of  religious  society 
and  those  of  civil  society 176 


THIRTEENTH    LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — General  character  of  the  English  revolution — 
Its  principal  causes— It  was  more  political  than  religious — The 
three  great  parties  in  it:  i.  The  party  of  legal  reform;  2.  The 
party  of  the  political  revolution;  3.  The  party  of  the  social 
revolution — They  all  fail — Cromwell — The  restoration  of  the 
Stuarts — The  legal  ministry — The  profligate  ministry — The 
revolution  of  1688  in  England  and  Europe 190 


FOURTEENTH   LECTURE. 

Object  of  the  lecture — Difference  and  likeness  between  the  prog- 
ress of  civilization  in  England  and  on  the  Continent — Pre- 
ponderance of  France  in  Europe  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries — In  the  seventeenth  century  by  reason  of 
the  French  government — In  the  eighteenth  by  reason  of 
the  country  itself — Of  the  government  of  Louis  XIV — Of  his 
wars — Of  his  diplomacy — Of  his  administration — Of  his  legis- 
lation— Causes  of  his  rapid  decline — Of  France  in  the  eighteenth 
century — Essential  characteristics  of  the  philosophical  revolu- 
tion— Conclusion  of  the  course 204 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 


Francois  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot       .         .     Frontispiece. 

Photogravure  from  a  painting 

Banquet  of  Wallenstein's  Generals       ....  148 

Photogravure  from  a  painting 


CIVILIZATION    IN    EUROPE. 


FIRST   LECTURE. 

GENTLEMEN:  I  am  deeply  affected  by  the  reception 
you  give  me,  and  which,  you  will  permit  me  to  say, 
I  accept  as  a  pledge  of  the  sympathy  which  has  not 
ceased  to  exist  between  us,  notwithstanding  so  long  a  sepa- 
ration. Alas!  I  speak  as  though  you,  whom  I  see  around 
me,  were  the  same  who,  seven  years  ago,  used  to  assemble 
within  these  walls,  to  participate  in  my  then  labors;  because 
I  myself  am  here  again,  it  seems  as  if  all  my  former  hearers 
should  be  here  also;  whereas,  since  that  period,  a  change,  a 
mighty  change,  has  come  over  all  things.  Seven  years  ago  we 
repaired  hither,  depressed  with  anxious  doubts  and  fears, 
weighed  down  with  sad  thoughts  and  anticipations;  we  saw 
ourselves  surrounded  with  difficulty  and  danger ;  we  felt  our- 
selves dragged  on  toward  an  evil  which  we  essayed  to  avert 
by  calm,  grave,  cautious  reserve,  but  in  vain.  Now,  we  meet 
together,  full  of  confidence  and  hope,  the  heart  at  peace,  thought 
free.  There  is  but  one  way  in  which  we  can  worthily  man- 
ifest our  gratitude  for  this  happy  change;  it  is  bringing  to 
our  present  meetings,  our  new  studies,  the  same  calm  tran- 
quillity of  mind,  the  same  firm  purpose,  which  guided  our  con- 
duct when,  seven  years  ago,  we  looked,  from  day  to  day,  to 
have  our  studies  placed  under  rigorous  supervision,  or,  indeed, 
to  be  arbitrarily  suspended.  Good  fortune  is  delicate,  frail, 
uncertain;  we  must  keep  measures  with  hope  as  with  fear; 
convalescence  requires  well  nigh  the  same  care,  the  same  cau- 
tion, as  the  approaches  of  illness.  This  care,  this  caution,  this 
moderation,  I  am  sure  you  will  exhibit.  The  same  sympathy, 
the  same  intimate  conformity  of  opinions,  of  sentiments,  of 
ideas,  which  united  us  in  times  of  difficulty  and  danger,  and 
which  at  least  saved  us  from  grave  faults,  will  equally  unite  us 
in  more  auspicious  days,  and  enable  us  to  gather  all  their  fruits. 
I  rely  with  confidence  upon  your  cooperation,  and  I  need  noth- 
ing more. 

The  time  between  this  our  first  meeting  and  the  close  of 
the   year  is  very  limited;   that  which   I   myself  have   had, 

I 


i  GUIZOT 

wherein  to  meditate  upon  the  Lectures  I  am  about  to  deliver, 
has  been  infinitely  more  limited  still.  One  great  point,  there- 
fore, was  the  selection  of  a  subject,  the  consideration  of  which 
might  best  be  brought  within  the  bounds  of  the  few  months 
which  remain  to  us  of  this  year,  within  that  of  the  few  days 
I  have  had  for  preparation;  and  it  appeared  to  me  that  a 
general  review  of  the  modern  history  of  Europe,  considered 
with  reference  to  the  development  of  civilization — a  general 
sketch,  in  fact,  of  the  history  of  European  civilization,  of  its 
origin,  its  progress,  its  aim,  its  character,  might  suitably  oc- 
cupy the  time  at  our  disposal.  This,  accordingly,  is  the  subject 
of  which  I  propose  to  treat. 

I  have  used  the  term  European  civilization,  because  it  is 
evident  that  there  is  an  European  civilization ;  that  a  certain 
unity  pervades  the  civilization  of  the  various  European  states ; 
that,  notwithstanding  infinite  diversities  of  time,  place  and  cir- 
cumstance, this  civilization  takes  its  first  rise  in  facts  almost 
wholly  similar,  proceeds  everywhere  upon  the  same  principles, 
and  tends  to  produce  well  nigh  everywhere  analogous  results. 
There  is,  then,  an  European  civilization,  and  it  is  to  the  sub- 
ject of  this  aggregate  civilization  that  I  will  request  your 
attention. 

Again,  it  is  evident  that  this  civilization  cannot  be  traced 
back,  that  its  history  cannot  be  derived  from  the  history  of 
any  single  European  state.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  mani- 
festly characterized  by  brevity,  on  the  other,  its  variety  is  no 
less  prodigious ;  it  has  not  developed  itself  with  completeness, 
in  any  one  particular  country.  The  features  of  its  physiog- 
nomy are  wide-spread ;  we  must  seek  the  elements  of  its 
history,  now  in  France,  now  in  England,  now  in  Germany, 
now  in  Spain. 

We  of  France  occupy  a  favorable  position  for  pursuing  the 
study  of  European  civilization.  Flattery  of  individuals,  even 
of  our  country,  should  be  at  all  times  avoided ;  it  is  without 
vanity,  I  think,  we  may  say  that  France  has  been  the  center, 
the  focus  of  European  civilization.  I  do  not  pretend,  it  were 
monstrous  to  do  so,  that  she  has  always,  and  in  every  direc- 
tion, marched  at  the  head  of  nations.  At  diflferent  epochs, 
Italy  has  taken  the  lead  of  her,  in  the  arts ;  England,  in  politi- 
cal institutions ;  and  there  may  be  other  respects  under  which, 
at  particular  periods,  other  European  nations  have  manifested 
a  superiority  to  her;  but  it  is  impossible  to  deny,  that  when- 
ever France  has  seen  herself  thus  outstripped  in  the  career  of 
civilization,  she  has  called  up  fresh  vigor,  has  sprung  forward 
with  a  new  impulse,  and  has  soon  found  herself  abreast  with, 
or  in  advance  of  all  the  rest.  And  not  only  has  this  been  the 
peculiar  fortune  of  France,  but  we  have  seen  that  when  the 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  3 

civilizing  ideas  and  institutions  which  have  taken  their  rise 
in  other  lands  have  sought  to  extend  their  sphere,  to  become 
fertile  and  general,  to  operate  for  the  common  benefit  of  Euro- 
pean civilization,  they  have  been  necessitated  to  undergo,  to 
a  certain  extent,  a  new  preparation  in  France;  and  it  has  been 
from  France,  as  from  a  second  native  country,  that  they  have 
gone  forth  to  the  conquest  of  Europe.  There  is  scarcely  any 
great  idea,  any  great  principle  of  civilization,  which,  prior  to 
its  diffusion,  has  not  passed  in  this  way  through  France. 

And  for  this  reason :  there  is  in  the  French  character  some- 
thing sociable,  something  sympathetic,  something  which  makes 
its  way  with  greater  facility  and  effect  than  does  the  national 
genius  of  any  other  people;  whether  from  our  language, 
whether  from  the  turn  of  our  mind,  of  our  manners,  certain 
it  is  that  our  ideas  are  more  popular  than  those  of  other  peo- 
ple, present  themselves  more  clearly  and  intelligibly  to  the 
masses  and  penetrate  among  them  more  readily;  in  a  word, 
perspicuity,  sociability,  sympathy,  are  the  peculiar  character- 
istics of  France,  of  her  civilization,  and  it  is  these  qualities 
which  rendered  her  eminently  fit  to  march  at  the  very  head 
of  European  civilization. 

In  entering,  therefore,  upon  the  study  of  this  great  fact,  it 
is  no  arbitrary  or  conventional  choice  to  take  France  as  the 
center  of  this  study;  we  must  needs  do  so  if  we  would  place 
ourselves,  as  it  were,  in  the  very  heart  of  civilization,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  fact  we  are  about  to  consider. 

I  use  the  term  fact,  and  I  do  so  purposely;  civilization  is 
a  fact  like  any  other — a  fact  susceptible,  like  any  other,  of 
being  studied,  described,  narrated. 

For  some  time  past,  there  has  been  much  talk  of  the  neces- 
sity of  limiting  history  to  the  narration  of  facts ;  nothing  can 
be  more  just;  but  we  must  always  bear  in  mind  that  there 
are  far  more  facts  to  narrate,  and  that  the  facts  themselves 
are  far  more  various  in  their  nature,  than  people  are  at  first 
disposed  to  believe ;  there  are  material,  visible  facts,  such  as 
wars,  battles,  the  official  acts  of  governments ;  there  are  moral 
facts,  none  the  less  real  that  they  do  not  appear  on  the  sur- 
face ;  there  are  individual  facts  which  have  denominations  of 
their  own;  there  are  general  facts,  without  any  particular 
designation,  to  which  it  is  impossible  to  assign  any  precise 
date,  which  it  is  impossible  to  bring  within  strict  limits,  but 
which  are  yet  no  less  facts  than  the  rest,  historical  facts,  facts 
which  we  cannot  exclude  from  history  without  mutilating 
history. 

The  very  portion  of  history  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
call  its  philosophy,  the  relation  of  events  to  each  other,  the 
connection  which  unites  them,  their  causes  and  their  effects, — 


4  GUIZOT 

these  are  all  facts,  these  are  all  history,  just  as  much  as  the 
narratives  of  battles,  and  of  other  material  and  visible  events. 
Facts  of  this  class  it  is  doubtless  more  difficult  to  disentangle 
and  explain ;  we  are  more  liable  to  error  in  giving  an  account 
of  them,  and  it  is  no  easy  thing  to  give  them  life  and  anima- 
tion, to  exhibit  them  in  clear  and  vivid  colors;  but  this 
difficulty  in  no  degree  changes  their  nature;  they  are  none 
the  less  an  essential  element  of  history. 

Civilization  is  one  of  these  facts ;  general,  hidden,  complex 
fact;  very  difficult,  I  allow,  to  describe,  to  relate,  but  which 
none  the  less  for  that  exists,  which,  none  the  less  for  that, 
has  a  right  to  be  described  and  related.  We  may  raise  as  to 
this  fact  a  great  number  of  questions;  we  may  ask,  it  has 
been  asked,  whether  it  is  a  good  or  an  evil?  Some  bitterly 
deplore  it;  others  rejoice  at  it.  We  may  ask,  whether  it  is 
an  universal  fact,  whether  there  is  an  universal  civilization  of 
the  human  species,  a  destiny  of  humanity ;  whether  the  nations 
have  handed  down  from  age  to  age,  something  which  has 
never  been  lost,  which  must  increase,  from  a  larger  and  larger 
mass,  and  thus  pass  on  to  the  end  of  time  ?  For  my  own  part, 
I  am  convinced  that  there  is,  in  reality,  a  general  destiny  of 
humanity,  a  transmission  of  the  aggregate  of  civilization ;  and, 
consequently,  an  universal  history  of  civilization  to  be  written. 
But  without  raising  questions  so  great,  so  difficult  to  solve, 
if  we  restrict  ourselves  to  a  definite  limit  of  time  and  space, 
if  we  confine  ourselves  to  the  history  of  a  certain  number  of 
centuries,  of  a  certain  people,  it  is  evident  that  within  these 
bounds,  civilization  is  a  fact  which  can  be  described,  related 
— which  is  history.  I  will  at  once  add,  that  this  history  is  the 
greatest  of  all,  that  it  includes  all. 

And,  indeed,  does  it  not  seem  to  yourselves  that  the  fact 
civilization  is  the  fact  par  excellence — the  general  and  defin- 
itive fact,  in  which  all  the  others  terminate,  into  which  they 
all  resolve  themselves?  Take  all  the  facts  which  compose  the 
history  of  a  nation,  and  which  we  are  accustomed  to  regard 
as  the  elements  of  its  life;  take  its  institutions,  its  commerce, 
its  industry,  its  wars,  all  the  details  of  its  government:  when 
we  would  consider  these  facts  in  their  aggregate,  in  their  con- 
nection, when  we  would  estimate  them,  judge  them,  we  ask 
in  what  they  have  contributed  to  the  civilization  of  that  na- 
tion, what  part  they  have  taken  in  it,  what  influence  they  have 
exercised  over  it.  It  is  in  this  way  that  we  not  only  form  a 
complete  idea  of  them,  but  measure  and  appreciate  their  true 
value;  they  are,  as  it  were,  rivers,  of  which  we  ask  what 
quantity  of  water  it  is  they  contribute  to  the  ocean?  For 
civilization  is  a  sort  of  ocean,  constituting  the  wealth  of  a 
people,  and  on  whose  bosom  all  the  elements  of  the  life  of  that 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  5 

people,  all  the  powers  supporting  its  existence,  assemble  and 
unite.  This  is  so  true,  that  even  facts,  which  from  their  na- 
ture are  odious,  pernicious,  which  weigh  painfully  upon 
nations,  despotism,  for  example,  and  anarchy,  if  they  have 
contributed  in  some  way  to  civilization,  if  they  have  enabled 
it  to  make  an  onward  stride,  up  to  a  certain  point  we  pardon 
them,  we  overlook  their  wrongs,  their  evil  nature;  in  a  word, 
wherever  we  recognize  civilization,  whatever  the  facts  which 
have  created  it,  we  are  tempted  to  forget  the  price  it  has  cost. 

There  are,  moreover,  facts  which,  properly  speaking,  we 
cannot  call  social;  individual  facts,  which  seem  to  interest 
the  human  soul  rather  than  the  public  life :  such  are  religious 
creeds  and  philosophical  ideas,  sciences,  letters,  arts.  These 
facts  appear  to  address  themselves  to  man  with  a  view  to  his 
moral  perfection,  his  intellectual  gratification;  to  have  for 
their  object  his  internal  amelioration,  his  mental  pleasure, 
rather  than  his  social  condition.  But,  here  again,  it  is  with 
reference  to  civilization  that  these  very  facts  are  often  con- 
sidered, and  claim  to  be  considered. 

At  all  times,  in  all  countries,  religion  has  assumed  the  glory 
of  having  civilized  the  people;  sciences,  letters,  arts,  all  the 
intellectual  and  moral  pleasures,  have  claimed  a  share  of  this 
glory;  and  we  have  deemed  it  a  praise  and  an  honor  to  them, 
when  we  have  recognized  this  claim  on  their  part.  Thus, 
facts  the  most  important  and  sublime  in  themselves,  inde- 
pendently of  all  external  result,  and  simply  in  their  relations 
with  the  soul  of  man,  increase  in  importance,  rise  in  sublimity 
from  their  affinity  with  civilization.  Such  is  the  value  of  this 
general  fact,  that  it  gives  value  to  everything  it  touches.  And 
not  only  does  it  give  value;  there  are  even  occasions  when 
the  facts  of  which  we  speak,  religious  creeds,  philosophical 
ideas,  letters,  arts,  are  especially  considered  and  judged  of 
with  reference  to  their  influence  upon  civilization;  an  in- 
fluence which  becomes,  up  to  a  certain  point  and  during  a 
certain  time,  the  conclusive  measure  of  their  merit,  of  their 
value. 

What,  then,  I  will  ask,  before  undertaking  its  history,  what, 
considered  only  in  itself,  what  is  this  so  grave,  so  vast,  so 
precious  fact,  which  seems  the  sum,  the  expression  of  the  whole 
life  of  nations? 

I  shall  take  care  here  not  to  fall  into  pure  philosophy;  not 
to  lay  down  some  ratiocinative  principle,  and  then  deduce 
from  it  the  nature  of  civilization  as  a  result;  there  would  be 
many  chances  of  error  in  this  method.  And  here  again  we 
have  a  fact  to  verify  and  describe. 

For  a  long  period,  and  in  many  countries,  the  word  civili- 
sation has  been  in  use;    people  have  attached  to  the  word 


6  GUIZOT 

ideas  more  or  less  clear,  more  or  less  comprehensive;  but 
there  it  is  in  use,  and  those  who  use  it  attach  some  meaning 
or  other  to  it.  It  is  the  general,  human,  popular  meaning  of 
this  word  that  we  must  study.  There  is  almost  always  in 
the  usual  acceptation  of  the  most  general  terms  more  accu- 
racy than  in  the  definitions,  apparently  more  strict,  more 
precise,  of  science.  It  is  common  sense  which  gives  to  words 
their  ordinary  signification,  and  common  sense  is  the  character- 
istic of  humanity.  The  ordinary  signification  of  a  word  is 
formed  by  gradual  progress  and  in  the  constant  presence  of 
facts ;  so  that  when  a  fact  presents  itself  which  seems  to  come 
within  the  meaning  of  a  known  term,  it  is  received  into  it,  as 
it  were,  naturally ;  the  signification  of  the  term  extends  itself, 
expands,  and  by  degrees  the  various  facts,  the  various  ideas 
which  from  the  nature  of  things  themselves  men  should  in- 
clude under  this  word,  are  included. 

When  the  meaning  of  a  word,  on  the  other  hand,  is  de- 
termined by  science,  this  determination,  the  work  of  one 
individual,  or  of  a  small  number  of  individuals,  takes  place 
under  the  influence  of  some  particular  fact  which  has  struck 
upon  the  mind.  Thus,  scientific  definitions  are,  in  general, 
much  more  narrow,  and,  hence,  much  less  accurate,  much 
less  true  at  bottom,  than  the  popular  meanings  of  the  terms. 
In  studying  as  a  fact  the  meaning  of  the  word  civilization,  in 
investigating  all  the  ideas  which  are  comprised  within  it,  ac- 
cording to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  we  shall  make  a 
much  greater  progress  toward  a  knowledge  of  the  fact  itself 
than  by  attempting  to  give  it  ourselves  a  scientific  definition, 
however  more  clear  and  precise  the  latter  might  appear  at 
first. 

I  will  commence  this  investigation  by  endeavoring  to  place 
before  you  some  hypotheses :  I  will  describe  a  certain  number 
of  states  of  society,  and  we  will  then  inquire  whether  general 
instinct  would  recognize  in  them  the  condition  of  a  people  civil- 
izing itself ;  whether  we  recognize  in  them  the  meaning  which 
mankind  attaches  to  the  word  civilization? 

First,  suppose  a  people  whose  external  life  is  easy,  is  full 
of  physical  comfort ;  they  pay  few  taxes,  they  are  free  from 
suffering;  justice  is  well  administered  in  their  private  rela- 
tions— in  a  word,  material  existence  is  for  them  altogether 
happy  and  happily  regulated.  But  at  the  same  time,  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  existence  of  this  people  is  studiously  kept 
in  a  state  of  torpor  and  inactivity ;  of,  I  will  not  say,  oppression, 
for  they  do  not  understand  the  feeling,  but  of  compression.  We 
are  not  without  instances  of  this  state  of  things.  There  has 
been  a  great  number  of  small  aristocratic  republics  in  which  the 
people  have  been  thus  treated  like  flocks  of  sheep,  well  kept  and 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  7 

materially  happy,  but  without  moral  and  intellectual  activity. 
Is  this  civilization  ?    Is  this  a  people  civilizing  itself  ? 

Another  hypothesis:  here  is  a  people  whose  material  ex- 
istence is  less  easy,  less  comfortable,  but  still  supportable. 
On  the  other  hand,  moral  and  intellectual  wants  have  not  been 
neglected,  a  certain  amount  of  mental  pasture  has  been  served 
out  to  them ;  elevated,  pure  sentiments  are  cultivated  in  them ; 
their  religious  and  moral  views  have  attained  a  certain  degree 
of  development;  but  great  care  is  taken  to  stifle  in  them  the 
principle  of  liberty;  the  intellectual  and  moral  wants,  as  in 
the  former  case  the  material  wants,  are  satisfied ;  each  man  has 
meted  out  to  him  his  portion  of  truth ;  no  one  is  permitted  to 
seek  it  for  himself.  Immobility  is  the  characteristic  of  moral 
life ;  it  is  the  state  into  which  have  fallen  most  of  the  popula- 
tions of  Asia ;  wherever  theocratic  dominations  keep  humanity 
in  check;  it  is  the  state  of  the  Hindoos,  for  example.  I  ask 
the  same  question  here  as  before;  is  this  a  people  civilizing 
itself? 

I  change  altogether  the  nature  of  the  hypothesis :  here  is  a 
people  among  whom  is  a  great  display  of  individual  liberties, 
but  where  disorder  and  inequality  are  excessive:  it  is  the 
empire  of  force  and  of  chance ;  every  man,  if  he  is  not  strong, 
is  oppressed,  suffers,  perishes;  violence  is  the  predominant 
feature  of  the  social  state.  No  one  is  ignorant  that  Europe 
has  passed  through  this  state.  It  this  a  civilized  state  ?  It  may, 
doubtless,  contain  principles  of  civilization  which  will  develop 
themselves  by  successive  degrees ;  but  the  fact  which  dominates 
in  such  a  society  is,  assuredly,  not  that  which  the  common  sense 
of  mankind  call  civilization. 

I  take  a  fourth  and  last  hypothesis:  the  liberty  of  each 
individual  is  very  great,  inequality  among  them  is  rare,  and 
at  all  events,  very  transient.  Every  man  does  very  nearly  just 
what  he  pleases,  and  differs  little  in  power  from  his  neighbor ; 
but  there  are  very  few  general  interests,  very  few  public  ideas, 
very  little  society, — in  a  word,  the  faculties  and  existence  of 
individuals  appear  and  then  pass  away,  wholly  apart  and  with- 
out acting  upon  each  other,  or  leaving  any  trace  behind  them ; 
the  successive  generations  leave  society  at  the  same  point  at 
which  they  found  it :  this  is  the  state  of  savage  tribes ;  liberty 
and  equality  are  there,  but  assuredly  not  civilization. 

I  might  multiply  these  hypotheses,  but  I  think  we  have  be- 
fore us  enough  to  explain  what  is  the  popular  and  natural 
meaning  of  the  word  civilisation. 

It  is  clear  that  none  of  the  states  I  have  sketched  corre- 
sponds, according  to  the  natural  good  sense  of  mankind,  to 
this  term.  Why?  It  appears  to  me  that  the  first  fact  com- 
prised in  the  word  civilization    (and  this  results  from  the 


8  GUIZOT 

different  examples  I  have  rapidly  placed  before  you),  is  the 
fact  of  progress,  of  development ;  it  presents  at  once  the  idea 
of  a  people  marching  onward,  not  to  change  its  place,  but  to 
change  its  condition;  of  a  people  whose  culture  is  condition 
itself,  and  ameliorating  itself.  The  idea  of  progress,  of  de- 
velopment, appears  to  me  the  fundamental  idea  contained  in 
the  word,  civilization.  What  is  this  progress?  what  this  de- 
velopment?   Herein  is  the  greatest  difficulty  of  all. 

The  etymology  of  the  word  would  seem  to  answer  in  a 
clear  and  satisfactory  manner:  it  says  that  it  is  the  perfecting 
of  civil  life,  the  development  of  society,  properly  so  called, 
of  the  relations  of  men  among  themselves. 

Such  is,  in  fact,  the  first  idea  which  presents  itself  to  the 
understanding  when  the  word  civilization  is  pronounced;  we 
at  once  figure  forth  to  ourselves  the  extension,  the  greatest 
activity,  the  best  organization  of  the  social  relations:  on  the 
one  hand,  an  increasing  production  of  the  means  of  giving 
strength  and  happiness  to  society ;  on  the  other,  a  more  equita- 
ble distribution,  among  individuals,  of  the  strength. 

Is  this  all?  Have  we  here  exhausted  all  the  natural,  ordi- 
nary meaning  of  the  word  civilization  ?  Does  the  fact  contain 
nothing  more  than  this? 

It  is  almost  as  if  we  asked  :  is  the  human  species  after  all 
a  mere  ant-hill,  a  society  in  which  all  that  is  required  is  order 
and  physical  happiness,  in  which  the  greater  the  amount  of 
labor,  and  the  more  equitable  the  division  of  the  fruits  of 
labor,  the  more  surely  is  the  object  attained,  the  progress  ac- 
complished ? 

Our  instinct  at  once  feels  repugnant  to  so  narrow  a  defini- 
tion of  human  destiny.  It  feels  at  the  first  glance  that  the 
word  civilization  comprehends  something  more  extensive, 
more  complex,  something  superior  to  the  simple  perfeccion  of 
the  social  relations,  of  social  power  and  happiness. 

Fact,  public  opinion,  the  generally  received  meaning  of  the 
term,  are  in  accordance  with  this  instinct. 

Take  Rome  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  republic,  after  the  sec- 
ond Punic  war,  at  the  same  time  of  its  greatest  virtues,  when 
it  was  marching  to  the  empire  of  the  world,  when  its  social 
state  was  evidently  in  progress.  Then  take  Rome  under  Au- 
gustus, at  the  epoch  when  her  decline  began,  when,  at  all 
events,  the  progressive  movement  of  society  was  arrested, 
when  evil  principles  were  on  the  eve  of  prevailing;  yet  there 
is  no  one  who  does  not  think  and  say  that  the  Rome  of  Au- 
gustus was  more  civilized  than  the  Rome  of  Fabricius  or  of 
Cincinnatus. 

Let  us  transport  ourselves  beyond  the  Alps :  let  us  take  the 
France  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries:    it  is 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  9 

evident  that,  in  a  social  point  of  view,  considering  the  actual 
amount  and  distribution  of  happiness  among  individuals, 
the  France  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  was 
inferior  to  some  other  countries  of  Europe,  to  Holland  and  to 
England,  for  example.  I  believe  that  in  Holland  and  in  Eng- 
land the  social  activity  was  greater,  was  increasing  more 
rapidly,  distributing  its  fruit  more  fully,  than  in  France,  yet 
ask  general  good  sense,  and  it  will  say  that  the  France  of  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  was  the  most  civilized 
country  in  Europe.  Europe  has  not  hesitated  in  her  affirma- 
tive reply  to  the  question :  traces  of  this  public  opinion,  as  to 
France,  are  found  in  all  the  monuments  of  European  literature. 

We  might  point  out  many  other  states  in  which  the  pros- 
perity is  greater,  is  of  more  rapid  growth,  is  better  distributed 
among  individuals  than  elsewhere,  and  in  which,  neverthe- 
less, by  the  spontaneous  instinct,  the  general  good  sense  of 
men,  the  civilization  is  judged  inferior  to  that  of  countries  not 
so  well  portioned  out  in  a  purely  social  sense. 

What  does  this  mean;  what  advantages  do  these  latter 
countries  possess?  What  is  it  gives  them,  in  the  character  of 
civilized  countries,  this  privilege;  what  so  largely  compen- 
sates in  the  opinion  of  mankind  for  what  they  so  lack  in  other 
respects  ? 

A  development  other  than  that  of  social  life  has  been 
gloriously  manifested  by  them;  the  development  of  the  indi- 
vidual, internal  life,  the  development  of  man  himself,  of  his 
faculties,  his  sentiments,  his  ideas.  If  society  with  them  be 
less  perfect  than  elsewhere,  humanity  stands  forth  in  more 
grandeur  and  power.  There  remain,  no  doubt,  many  social 
conquests  to  be  made;  but  immense  intellectual  and  moral 
conquests  are  accomplished;  worldly  goods,  social  rights,  are 
wanting  to  many  men ;  but  many  great  men  live  and  shine  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  Letters,  sciences,  the  arts,  display  all 
their  splendor.  Wherever  mankind  beholds  these  great  signs, 
these  signs  glorified  by  human  nature,  wherever  it  sees  created 
these  treasures  of  sublime  enjoyment,  it  there  recognizes  and 
names  civilization. 

Two  facts,  then,  are  comprehended  in  this  great  fact;  it 
subsists  on  two  conditions,  and  manifests  itself  by  two  symp- 
toms: the  development  of  social  activity,  and  that  of  indi- 
vidual activity;  the  progress  of  society  and  the  progress  of 
humanity.  Wherever  the  external  condition  of  man  extends 
itself,  vivifies,  ameliorates  itself;  wherever  the  internal  nature 
of  man  displays  itself  with  lustre,  with  grandeur;  at  these 
two  signs,  and  often  despite  the  profound  imperfection  of  the 
social  state,  mankind  with  loud  applause  proclaims  civiliza- 
tion. 


lo  GUIZOT 

Such,  if  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  is  the  result  of  simple  and 
purely  common-sense  examination  of  the  general  opinion  of 
mankind.  If  we  interrogate  history,  properly  so-called,  if  we 
examine  what  is  the  nature  of  the  great  crises  of  civilization, 
of  those  facts  which,  by  universal  consent,  have  propelled  it 
onward,  we  shall  constantly  recognize  one  or  other  of  the  two 
elements  I  have  just  described.  They  are  always  crises  of 
individual  or  social  development,  facts  which  have  changed 
the  internal  man,  his  creed,  his  manners,  or  his  external  con- 
dition, his  position  in  his  relation  with  his  fellows.  Christianity, 
for  example,  not  merely  on  its  first  appearance,  but  during 
the  first  stages  of  its  existence,  Christianity  in  no  degree  ad- 
dressed itself  to  the  social  state;  it  announced  aloud  that  it 
would  not  meddle  with  the  social  state;  it  ordered  the  slave 
to  obey  his  master;  it  attacked  none  of  the  great  evils,  the 
great  wrongs  of  the  society  of  that  period.  Yet  who  will  deny 
that  Christianity  was  a  great  crisis  of  civilization?  Why  was 
it  so?  Because  it  changed  the  internal  man,  creeds,  senti- 
ments; because  it  regenerated  the  moral  man,  the  intellectual 
man. 

We  have  seen  a  crisis  of  another  nature,  a  crisis  which  ad- 
dressed itself,  not  to  the  internal  man,  but  to  his  external  con- 
dition; one  which  changed  and  regenerated  society.  This 
also  was  assuredly  one  of  the  decisive  crises  of  civilization. 
Look  through  all  history,  you  will  find  everywhere  the  same 
result;  you  will  meet  with  no  important  fact  instrumental  in 
the  development  of  civilization,  which  has  not  exercised  one 
or  other  of  the  two  sorts  of  influence  I  have  spoken  of. 

Such,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  natural  and  popular  meaning 
of  the  term;  you  have  here  the  fact,  I  will  not  say  defined, 
but  described,  verified  almost  completely,  or,  at  all  events, 
in  its  general  features.  We  have  before  us  the  two  elements 
of  civilization.  Now  comes  the  question,  would  one  of  these 
two  suffice  to  constitute  it ;  would  the  development  of  the  social 
state,  the  development  of  the  individual  man,  separately  pre- 
sented, be  civilization?  Would  the  human  race  recognize  it 
as  such,  or  have  the  two  facts  so  intimate  and  necessary  a 
relation  between  them,  that  if  they  are  not  simultaneously  pro- 
duced, they  are  notwithstanding  inseparable,  and  sooner  or 
later  one  brings  on  the  other? 

We  might,  as  it  appears  to  me,  approach  this  question  on 
three  several  sides.  We  might  examine  the  nature  itself  of 
the  two  elements  of  civilization,  and  ask  ourselves  whether  by 
that  alone,  they  are  or  are  not  closely  united  with,  and  neces- 
sary to  each  other.  We  might  inquire  of  history  whether  they 
had  manifested  themselves  isolately,  apart  the  one  from  the 
other,  or  whether  they  had  invariably  produced  the  one  the 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  xi 

other.  We  may,  lastly,  consult  upon  this  question  the  com- 
mon opinion  of  mankind — common  sense.  I  will  address 
myself  first  to  common  sense. 

When  a  great  change  is  accomplished  in  the  state  of  a 
country,  when  there  is  operated  in  it  a  large  development  of 
wealth  and  power,  a  revolution  in  the  distribution  of  the  social 
means,  this  new  fact  encounters  adversaries,  undergoes  oppo- 
sition: this  is  inevitable.  What  is  the  general  cry  of  the 
adversaries  of  the  change  ?  They  say  that  this  progress  of  the 
social  state  does  not  ameliorate,  does  not  regenerate  in  like 
manner,  in  a  like  degree,  the  moral,  the  internal  state  of  man ; 
that  it  is  a  false,  delusive  progress,  the  result  of  which  is  detri- 
mental to  morality,  to  man.  The  friends  of  social  development 
energetically  repel  this  attack ;  they  maintain,  on  the  contrary, 
that  the  progress  of  society  necessarily  involves  and  carries 
v/ith  it  the  progress  of  morality;  that  when  the  external  life 
is  better  regulated,  the  internal  life  is  refined  and  purified. 
Thus  stands  the  question  between  the  adversaries  and  parti- 
sans of  the  new  state. 

Reverse  the  hypothesis:  suppose  the  moral  development 
in  progress:  what  do  the  laborers  in  this  progress  generally 
promise?  What,  in  the  origin  of  societies,  have  promised  the 
religious  rulers,  the  sages,  the  poets,  who  have  labored  to 
soften  and  to  regulate  men's  manners  ?  They  have  promised  the 
amelioration  of  the  social  condition,  the  more  equitable  dis- 
tribution of  the  social  means.  What,  then,  I  ask  you,  is  involved 
in  these  disputes,  these  promises  ?  What  do  they  mean  ?  What 
do  they  imply? 

They  imply  that  in  the  spontaneous,  instinctive  conviction 
of  mankind,  the  two  elements  of  civilization,  the  social  devel- 
opment and  the  moral  development,  are  closely  connected 
together ;  that  at  sight  of  the  one,  man  at  once  looks  forward 
to  the  other.  It  is  to  this  natural  instinctive  conviction  that 
those  who  are  maintaining  or  combating  one  or  other  of  the 
two  developments  address  themselves,  when  they  affirm  or 
deny  their  union.  It  is  well  understood,  that  if  we  can  per- 
suade mankind  that  the  amelioration  of  the  social  state  will 
be  averse  to  the  internal  progress  of  individuals,  we  shall  have 
succeeded  in  decrying  and  enfeebling  the  revolution  in  operation 
throughout  society.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  promise  man- 
kind the  amelioration  of  society  by  means  of  the  amelioration 
of  the  individual,  it  is  well  understood  that  the  tendency  is  to 
place  faith  in  these  promises,  and  it  is  accordingly  made  use  of 
with  success.  It  is  evidently,  therefore,  the  instinctive  belief  of 
humanity,  that  the  m'ovements  of  civilization  are  connected  the 
one  with  the  other,  and  reciprocally  produce  the  one  the  other. 

If  we  address  ourselves  to  the  history  of  the  world,  we  shall 


12  GUIZOT 

receive  the  same  answer.  We  shall  find  that  all  the  great 
developments  of  the  internal  man  have  turned  to  the  profit 
of  society;  all  the  great  developments  of  the  social  state  to 
the  profit  of  individual  man.  We  find  the  one  or  other  of 
the  two  facts  predominating,  manifesting  itself  with  striking 
effect,  and  impressing  upon  the  movement  in  progress  a  dis- 
tinctive character.  It  is,  sometimes,  only  after  a  very  long 
interval  of  time,  after  a  thousand  obstacles,  a  thousand  trans- 
formations, that  the  second  fact,  developing  itself,  comes  to 
complete  the  civilization  which  the  first  had  commenced.  But 
if  you  examine  them  closely,  you  will  soon  perceive  the  bond 
which  unites  them.  The  march  of  Providence  is  not  restricted 
to  narrow  limits ;  it  is  not  bound,  and  it  does  not  trouble  itself 
to  follow  out  to-day  the  consequences  of  the  principle  which 
it  laid  down  yesterday.  The  consequences  will  come  in  due 
course,  when  the  hour  for  them  has  arrived,  perhaps  not  till 
hundreds  of  years  have  passed  away;  though  its  reasoning 
may  appear  to  us  slow,  its  logic  is  none  the  less  true  and 
sound.  To  Providence,  time  is  as  nothing;  it  strides  through 
time  as  the  gods  of  Homer  through  space;  it  makes  but  one 
step,  and  ages  have  vanished  behind  it.  How  many  centuries, 
what  infinite  events  passed  away  before  the  regeneration  of 
the  moral  man  by  Christianity  exercised  upon  the  regenera- 
tion of  the  social  state  its  great  and  legitimate  influence.  Yet 
who  will  deny  that  it  any  the  less  succeeded? 

If  from  history  we  extend  our  inquiries  to  the  nature  itself 
of  the  two  facts  which  constitute  civilization,  we  are  infallibly 
led  to  the  same  result.  There  is  no  one  who  has  not  experienced 
this  in  his  own  case.  When  a  moral  change  is  operated  in 
man,  when  he  acquires  an  idea,  or  a  virtue,  or  a  faculty,  more 
than  he  had  before — in  a  word,  when  he  develops  himself  in- 
dividually, what  is  the  desire,  what  the  want,  which  at  the 
same  moment  takes  possession  of  him?  It  is  the  desire,  the 
want,  to  communicate  the  new  sentiment  to  the  world  about 
him,  to  give  realization  to  his  thoughts  externally.  As  soon 
as  a  man  acquires  anything,  as  soon  as  his  being  takes  in  his 
own  conviction  a  new  development,  assumes  an  additional 
value,  forthwith  he  attaches  to  this  new  development,  this 
fresh  value,  the  idea  of  possession ;  he  feels  himself  impelled, 
compelled  by  his  instinct,  by  an  inward  voice,  to  extend  to 
others  the  change,  the  amelioration,  which  has  been  accom- 
plished in  his  own  person.  We  owe  the  great  reformers  solely 
to  this  cause ;  the  mighty  men  who  have  changed  the  face  of 
the  world,  after  having  changed  themselves,  were  urged  on- 
ward, were  guided  on  their  course,  by  no  other  want  than 
this.  So  much  for  the  alteration  which  is  operated  in  the 
internal  man ;  now  to  the  other,    A  revolution  is  accomplished 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  13 

in  the  state  of  society ;  it  is  better  regulated,  rights  and  prop- 
erty are  more  equitably  distributed  among  its  members — ^that 
is  to  say,  the  aspect  of  the  world  becomes  purer  and  more 
beautiful,  the  action  of  government,  the  conduct  of  men  in 
their  mutual  relations,  more  just,  more  benevolent.  Do  you 
suppose  that  this  improved  aspect  of  the  world,  this  ameliora- 
tion of  external  facts,  does  not  react  upon  the  interior  of  man, 
upon  humanity?  All  that  is  said  as  to  the  authority  of  exam- 
ples, of  customs,  of  noble  models,  is  founded  upon  this  only: 
that  an  external  fact,  good,  well  regulated,  leads  sooner  or 
later,  more  or  less  completely,  to  an  internal  fact  of  the  same 
nature,  the  same  merit ;  that  a  world  better  regulated,  a  world 
more  just,  renders  man  himself  more  just ;  that  the  inward  is 
reformed  by  the  outward,  as  the  outward  by  the  inward ;  that 
the  two  elements  of  civilization  are  closely  connected  the  one 
with  the  other ;  that  centuries,  that  obstacles  of  all  sorts,  may 
interpose  between  them;  that  it  is  possible  they  may  have 
to  undergo  a  thousand  reformations  in  order  to  regain  each 
other;  but  sooner  or  later  they  will  rejoin  each  other:  this 
is  the  law  of  their  nature,  the  general  fact  of  history,  the  instinc- 
tive faith  of  the  human  race. 

I  think  I  have  thus — not  exhausted  the  subject,  very  far 
from  it — but,  exhibited  in  a  well-nigh  complete,  though  cur- 
sory manner,  the  fact  of  civilization ;  I  think  I  have  described 
it,  settled  its  limits,  and  stated  the  principal,  the  fundamental 
questions  to  which  it  gives  rise.  I  might  stop  here;  but  I 
cannot  help  touching  upon  a  question  which  meets  me  at  this 
point;  one  of  those  questions  which  are  not  historical  ques- 
tions, properly  so  called;  which  are  questions,  I  will  not  call 
them  hypothetical,  but  conjectural;  questions  of  which  man 
holds  but  one  end,  the  other  end  being  permanently  beyond 
his  reach;  questions  of  which  he  cannot  make  the  circuit, 
nor  view  on  more  than  one  side;  and  yet  questions  not  the 
less  real,  not  the  less  calling  upon  him  for  thought;  for  they 
present  themselves  before  him,  despite  of  himself,  at  every 
moment. 

Of  those  two  developments  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and 
which  constitute  the  fact  of  civilization,  the  development  of 
society  on  the  one  hand  and  of  humanity  on  the  other,  which 
is  the  end,  which  is  the  means?  Is  it  to  perfect  this  social 
condition,  to  ameliorate  his  existence  on  earth,  that  man  de- 
velops himself,  his  faculties,  sentiments,  ideas,  his  whole  being  ? 
— or  rather,  is  not  the  amehoration  of  the  social  condition,  the 
progress  of  society,  society  itself,  the  theatre,  the  occasion,  the 
mobile,  of  the  development  of  the  individual,  in  a  word,  is 
society  made  to  serve  the  individual,  or  the  individual  to  serve 
society?    On  the  answer  to  this  question  inevitably  depends 


14  GUIZOT 

that  whether  the  destiny  of  man  is  purely  social;  whether 
society  drains  up  and  exhausts  the  whole  man ;  or  whether  he 
bears  within  him  something  intrinsic — something  superior  to 
his  existence  on  earth. 

A  man,  whom  I  am  proud  to  call  my  friend,  a  man  who  has 
passed  though  meetings  like  our  own  to  assume  the  first  place 
in  the  assemblies  less  peaceable  and  more  powerful :  a  man,  all 
whose  words  are  engraven  on  the  hearts  of  those  who  hear  them, 
M.  Royer-Collard,  has  solved  this  question  according  to  his 
own  conviction,  at  least,  in  his  speech  on  the  Sacrilege  Bill. 
I  find  in  that  speech  these  two  sentences :  "  Human  societies 
are  born,  live  and  die,  on  the  earth ;  it  is  there  their  destinies 
are  accomplished.  .  .  ,  But  they  contain  not  the  whole  man. 
After  he  has  engaged  himself  to  society,  there  remains  to  him 
the  noblest  part  of  himself,  those  high  faculties  by  which  he 
elevates  himself  to  God,  to  a  future  life,  to  unknown  felicity 
in  an  invisible  world.  .  .  .  We,  persons  individual  and 
identical,  veritable  beings  endowed  with  immortality,  we  have 
a  different  destiny  from  that  of  states."* 

I  will  add  nothing  to  this ;  I  will  not  undertake  to  treat  the 
question  itself;  I  content  myself  with  stating  it.  It  is  met  with 
at  the  history  of  civilization:  when  the  history  of  civilization 
is  completed,  when  there  is  nothing  more  to  say  as  to  our  present 
existence,  man  inevitably  asks  himself  whether  all  is  exhausted, 
whether  he  has  reached  the  end  of  all  things?  This  then  is 
the  last,  the  highest  of  all  those  problems  to  which  history  of 
civilization  can  lead.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  to  have  indicated 
its  position  and  its  grandeur. 

From  all  I  have  said  it  is  evident  that  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion might  be  treated  in  two  methods,  drawn  from  two  sources, 
considered  under  two  different  aspects.  The  historian  might 
place  himself  in  the  heart  of  the  human  mind  for  a  given  period, 
a  series  of  ages,  or  among  the  determinate  people;  he  might 
study,  describe,  relate  all  the  events,  all  the  transformations, 
all  the  revolutions  which  had  been  accomplished  in  the  internal 
man;  and  when  he  should  arrive  at  the  end  he  would  have 
a  history  of  civilization  among  the  people,  and  in  the  period  he 
had  selected.  He  may  proceed  in  another  manner;  instead  of 
penetrating  the  internal  man,  he  may  take  his  stand — he  may 
place  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  world ;  instead  of  describing 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  ideas,  the  sentiments  of  the  individual 
being,  he  may  describe  external  facts,  the  events,  the  changes 
of  the  social  state.  These  two  portions,  these  two  histories  of 
civilization  are  closely  connected  with  each  other;  they  are 
the  reflection,  the  image  of  each  other.    Yet,  they  may  be  sep- 

**' Opinion  de  M.  Royer-Collard  sur  le  Projet  de  Loi  reUtif  au  Sacrilege,** 
pp.  7»  17. 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  15 

arated;  perhaps,  indeed,  they  ought  to  be  so,  at  least  at  the 
onset,  in  order  that  both  the  one  and  the  other  may  be  treated 
of  in  detail,  and  with  perspicuity.  For  my  part  I  do  not  pro- 
pose to  study  with  you  the  history  of  civilization  in  the  interior 
of  the  human  soul ;  it  is  the  history  of  external  events  of  the 
visible  and  social  world  that  I  shall  occupy  myself  with.  I  had 
wished,  indeed,  to  exhibit  to  you  the  whole  fact  of  civiliza- 
tion, such  as  I  can  conceive  it  in  all  its  complexity  and  extent, 
to  set  forth  before  you  all  the  high  questions  which  may  arise 
from  it.  At  present  I  restrict  myself;  mark  out  my  field  of 
inquiry  within  narrower  limits;  it  is  only  the  history  of  the 
social  state  that  I  purpose  investigating. 

We  shall  begin  by  seeking  all  the  elements  of  European  civ- 
ilization in  its  cradle  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire ;  we  will 
study  with  attention  society,  such  as  it  was,  in  the  midst  of 
those  famous  ruins.  We  will  endeavor,  not  to  resuscitate,  but 
to  place  its  elements  side  by  side,  and  when  we  have  done  so, 
we  will  endeavor  to  make  them  move  and  follow  them  in  their 
developments  through  the  fifteen  centuries  which  have  elapsed 
since  that  epoch. 

I  believe  that  when  we  have  got  but  a  very  little  way  into  this 
study,  we  shall  acquire  the  conviction  that  civilization  is  as 
yet  very  young;  that  the  world  has  by  no  means  as  yet  meas- 
ured the  whole  of  its  career.  Assuredly  human  thought  is  at 
this  time  very  far  from  being  all  that  it  is  capable  of  becom- 
ing ;  we  are  very  far  from  comprehending  the  whole  future  of 
humanity:  let  each  of  us  descend  into  his  own  mind,  let  him 
interrogate  himself  as  to  the  utmost  possible  good  he  has  formed 
a  conception  of  and  hopes  for ;  let  him  then  compare  his  idea 
with  what  actually  exists  in  the  world;  he  will  be  convinced 
that  society  and  civilization  are  very  young ;  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  length  of  the  road  they  have  come,  they  have  incom- 
parably further  to  go.  This  will  lessen  nothing  of  the  pleasure 
that  we  shall  take  in  the  contemplation  of  our  actual  condi- 
tion. 

As  I  endeavor  to  place  before  you  the  great  crises  in  the 
history  of  civilization  in  Europe  during  the  last  fifteen  cen- 
turies, you  will  see  to  what  a  degree,  even  up  in  our  own  days, 
the  condition  of  man  has  been  laborious,  stormy,  not  only  in  the 
outward  and  social  state,  but  inwardly  in  the  life  of  the  soul. 
During  all  those  ages,  the  human  mind  has  had  to  suffer  as 
much  as  the  human  race;  you  will  see  that  in  modern  times, 
for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  the  human  mind  has  attained  a  state, 
as  yet  very  imperfect,  but  still  a  state  in  which  reigns  some 
peace,  some  harmony.  It  is  the  same  with  society;  it  has 
evidently  made  immense  progress,  the  human  condition  is  easy 
and  just,  compared  with  what  it  was  previously ;  we  may  almost 


i6  GUIZOT 

when  thinking  of  our  ancestors  apply  to  ourselves  the  verses 
of  Lucretius : 

"  Suave  mari  magno,  turbantibus  aequora  ventis, 
E  terr^  magnum  alterius  spectare  iaborem."  * 

We  may  say  of  ourselves,  without  too  much  pride,  as  Sthenelus 
in  Homer : — 

H/t€iv  To\  T  \rtpwv  firy  h/Mfivovts  fvxSufff  tlvai.  f 

Let  us  be  careful,  however,  not  to  give  ourselves  up  too  much 
to  the  idea  of  our  happiness  and  amelioration,  or  we  may  fall 
into  two  grave  dangers,  pride  and  indolence;  we  may  conceive 
an  over-confidence  in  the  power  and  success  of  the  human 
mind,  in  our  own  enlightenment,  and,  at  the  same  time,  suffer 
ourselves  to  become  enervated  by  the  luxurious  ease  of  our  con- 
dition. It  appears  to  me  that  we  are  constantly  fluctuating 
between  a  tendency  to  complain  upon  light  grounds,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  to  be  content  without  reason,  on  the  other.  We  have 
a  susceptibility  of  spirit,  a  craving,  an  unlimited  ambition  in  the 
thought,  in  our  desire,  in  the  movement  of  the  imagination ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  the  practical  work  of  life,  when  we  are  called 
upon  to  give  ourselves  any  trouble,  to  make  any  sacrifices,  to 
use  any  efforts  to  attain  the  object,  our  arms  fall  down  listlessly 
by  our  sides,  and  we  give  the  matter  up  in  despair,  with  a  facility 
equalled  only  by  the  impatience  with  which  we  had  previously 
desired  its  attainment.  We  must  beware  how  we  allow  ourselves 
to  yield  to  either  of  these  defects.  Let  us  accustom  ourselves 
duly  to  estimate  beforehand  the  extent  of  our  force,  our  capacity, 
our  knowledge;  and  let  us  aim  at  nothing  which  we  feel  we 
cannot  attain  legitimately,  justly,  regularly,  and  with  unfailing 
regard  to  the  principles  upon  which  our  civilization  itself  rests. 
We  seem  at  times  tempted  to  adopt  the  principles  which,  as  a 
general  rule,  we  assail  and  hold  up  to  scorn — the  principles,  the 
right  of  the  strongest  of  barbarian  Europe;  the  brute  force,  the 
violence,  the  downright  lying  which  were  matters  of  course,  of 
daily  occurrence,  four  or  five  hundred  years  ago.  But  when 
we  yield  for  a  moment  to  this  desire,  we  find  in  ourselves  neither 
the  perseverance  nor  the  savage  energy  of  the  men  of  that 
period,  who,  suffering  greatly  from  their  condition,  were  natu- 
rally anxious,  and  incessantly  essaying,  to  emancipate  them- 
selves from  it.  We,  of  the  present  day,  are  content  with  our 
condition;  let  us  not  expose  it  to  danger  by  indulging  in  vague 

*  **  *Tis  pleasant,  in  a  great  storm,  to  contemplate,  from  a  safe  position  on 
shore,  the  perils  of  some  ships  tossed  about  by  the  furious  winds  and  the 
stormy  ocean." 

t  "Thank  Heaven,  we  are  infinitely  better  than  those  who  went  before  us." 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  17 

desires,  the  time  for  realizing  which  has  not  come.  Much  has 
been  given  to  us,  much  will  be  required  of  us;  we  must  render 
to  posterity  a  strict  account  of  our  conduct;  the  public,  the 
government,  all  are  now  subjected  to  discussion,  examination, 
responsibility.  Let  us  attach  ourselves  firmly,  faithfully,  undevi- 
atingly,  to  the  principles  of  our  civilization — ^justice,  legality, 
publicity,  Hberty;  and  let  us  never  forget,  that  while  we  ourselves 
require,  and  with  reason,  that  all  things  shall  be  open  to  our 
inspection  and  inquiry,  we  ourselves  are  under  the  eye  of  the 
world,  and  shall,  in  our  turn,  be  discussed,  be  judged. 


SECOND  LECTURE. 

IN  meditating  the  plan  of  the  course  with  which  I  propose  to 
present  you,  I  am  fearful  lest  my  lectures  should  possess 
the  double  inconvenience  of  being  very  long,  by  reason  of 
the  necessity  of  condensing  much  matter  into  little  space,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  of  being  too  concise. 

I  dread  yet  another  difficulty,  originating  in  the  same  cause; 
the  necessity,  namely,  of  sometimes  making  affirmations  with- 
out proving  them.  This  is  also  the  result  of  the  narrow  space 
to  which  I  find  myself  confined.  There  will  occur  ideas  and 
assertions  of  which  the  confirmation  must  be  postponed.  I  hope 
you  will  pardon  me  for  sometimes  placing  you  under  the 
necessity  of  believing  me  upon  my  bare  word.  I  come  even 
now  to  an  occasion  of  imposing  upon  you  this  necessity. 

I  have  endeavored,  in  the  preceding  lecture,  to  explain  the 
fact  of  civilization  in  general,  without  speaking  of  any  particular 
civilization,  without  regarding  circumstances  of  time  and  place, 
considering  the  fact  in  itself,  and  under  a  purely  philosophical 
point  of  view.  I  come  to-day  to  the  history  of  European  civil- 
ization ;  but  before  entering  upon  the  narrative  itself,  I  wish  to 
make  you  acquainted,  in  a  general  manner,  with  the  particular 
physiognomy  of  this  civilization;  I  desire  to  characterize  it  so 
clearly  to  you,  that  it  may  appear  to  you  perfectly  distinct  from 
all  other  civilizations  which  have  developed  themselves  in  the 
world.  This  I  am  going  to  attempt,  more  than  which  I  dare  not 
say;  but  I  can  only  affirm  it,  unless  I  could  succeed  in  depicting 
European  society  with  such  faithfulness  that  you  should 
instantly  recognize  it  as  a  portrait.  But  of  this  I  dare  not  flatter 
myself. 

When  we  regard  the  civilizations  which  have  preceded  that 
of  modern  Europe,  whether  in  Asia  or  elsewhere,  including  even 
Greek  and  Roman  civilization,  it  is  impossible  to  help  being 
struck  with  the  unity  which  pervades  them.  They  seem  to  have 
emanated  from  a  single  fact,  from  a  single  idea;  one  might  say 
that  society  has  attached  itself  to  a  solitary  dominant  principle, 
which  has  determined  its  institutions,  its  customs,  its  creeds,  in 
one  word,  all  its  developments. 

In  Egypt,  for  instance,  it  was  the  theocratic  principle  which 
pervaded  the  entire  community;  it  reproduced  itself  in  the 

i8 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  19 

customs,  in  the  monuments,  and  in  all  that  remains  to  us  of 
Egyptian  civilization.  In  India,  you  will  discover  the  same  fact; 
there  is  still  the  almost  exclusive  dominion  of  the  theocratic 
principle.  Elsewhere  you  will  meet  with  another  organizing 
principle — the  domination  of  a  victorious  caste;  the  principle 
of  force  will  here  alone  possess  society,  imposing  thereupon  its 
laws  and  its  character.  Elsewhere  society  will  be  the  expression 
of  the  democratic  principle;  it  has  been  thus  with  the  commercial 
republics  which  have  covered  the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor  and  of 
Syria,  in  Ionia,  in  Phenicia.  In  short,  when  we  contemplate 
ancient  civilizations,  we  find  them  stamped  with  a  singular 
character  of  unity  in  their  institutions,  their  ideas  and  their 
manners;  a  sole,  or  at  least,  a  strongly  preponderating  force 
governs  and  determines  all. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  this  unity  of  principle  and  form  in  the 
civilization  of  these  states  has  always  prevailed  therein.  When 
we  go  back  to  their  earlier  history,  we  find  that  the  various 
powers  which  may  develop  themselves  in  the  heart  of  a  society, 
have  often  contended  for  empire.  Among  the  Egyptians,  the 
Etruscans,  the  Greeks  themselves,  etc.,  the  order  of  warriors, 
for  example,  has  struggled  against  that  of  the  priests ;  else- 
where, the  spirit  of  clanship  has  struggled  against  that  of  free 
association ;  the  aristocratic  against  the  popular  system,  etc.  But 
it  has  generally  been  in  ante-historical  times  that  such  struggles 
have  occurred ;  and  thus  only  a  vague  recollection  has  remained 
of  them. 

The  struggle  has  sometimes  reproduced  itself  in  the  course  of 
the  existence  of  nations ;  but,  almost  invariably,  it  has  soon  been 
terminated ;  one  of  the  powers  that  disputed  for  empire  has  soon 
gained  it,  and  taken  sole  possession  of  the  society.  The  war  has 
always  terminated  by  the,  if  not  exclusive,  at  least  largely  pre- 
ponderating, domination  of  some  particular  principle.  The  co- 
existence and  the  combat  of  different  principles  have  never,  in 
the  history  of  these  peoples,  been  more  than  a  transitory  crisis, 
and  accident. 

The  result  of  this  has  been  a  remarkable  simplicity  in  the 
majority  of  ancient  civilizations.  This  simplicity  has  produced 
different  consequences.  Sometimes,  as  in  Greece,  the  simplicity 
of  the  social  principle  has  led  to  a  wonderfully  rapid  develop- 
ment; never  has  any  people  unfolded  itself  in  so  short  a  period 
with  such  brilliant  effect.  But  after  this  astonishing  flight, 
Greece  seemed  suddenly  exhausted;  its  decay,  if  it  was  not  so 
rapid  as  its  rise,  was  nevertheless  strangely  prompt.  It  seems 
that  the  creative  force  of  the  principle  of  Greek  civilization  was 
exhausted ;  no  other  has  come  to  renew  it. 

Elsewhere,  in  Egypt  and  in  India,  for  instance,  the  unity  of 
the  principle  of  civilization  has  had  a  different  effect ;  society  has 


20  GUIZOT 

fallen  into  a  stationary  condition.  Simplicity  has  brought 
monotony ;  the  country  has  not  been  destroyed,  society  has  con- 
tinued to  exist,  but  motionless,  and  as  if  frozen. 

It  is  to  the  same  cause  that  we  must  attribute  the  character  of 
tyranny  which  appeared  in  the  name  of  principle  and  under  the 
most  various  forms,  among  all  the  ancient  civilizations.  Society 
belonged  to  an  exclusive  power,  which  would  allow  of  the  exist- 
ence of  none  other.  Every  differing  tendency  was  proscribed 
and  hunted  down.  Never  has  the  ruling  principle  chosen  to 
admit  beside  it  the  manifestation  and  action  of  a  different 
principle. 

This  character  of  unity  of  civilization  is  equally  stamped  upon 
literature  and  the  works  of  the  mind.  Who  is  unacquainted  with 
the  monuments  of  Indian  literature,  which  have  lately  been  dis- 
tributed over  Europe?  It  is  impossible  not  to  see  that  they  are 
all  cast  in  the  same  mold;  they  seem  all  to  be  the  result  of  the 
same  fact,  the  expression  of  the  same  idea ;  works  of  religion  or 
morals,  historical  traditions,  dramatic  and  epic  poetry,  every- 
where the  same  character  is  stamped;  the  productions  of  the 
mind  bear  the  same  character  of  simplicity  and  of  monotony 
which  appears  in  events  and  institutions.  Even  in  Greece,  in  the 
centre  of  all  the  riches  of  the  human  intellect,  a  singular  uni- 
formity reigns  in  literature  and  in  the  arts. 

It  has  been  wholly  otherwise  with  the  civilization  of  modem 
Europe.  Without  entering  into  details,  look  upon  it,  gather 
together  your  recollections;  it  will  immediately  appear  to  you 
varied,  confused,  stormy ;  all  forms,  all  principles  of  social  organ- 
ization co-exist  therein ;  powers  spiritual  and  temporal ;  elements 
theocratic,  monarchical,  aristocratic,  democratic;  all  orders,  all 
social  arrangements  mingle  and  press  upon  one  another;  there 
are  infinite  degrees  of  liberty,  wealth,  and  influence.  These 
various  forces  are  in  a  state  of  continual  struggle  among  them- 
selves, yet  no  one  succeeds  in  stifling  the  others,  and  taking 
possession  of  society.  In  ancient  times,  at  every  great  epoch,  all 
societies  seemed  cast  in  the  same  mold;  it  is  sometimes  pure 
monarchy,  sometimes  theocracy  or  democracy,  that  prevails; 
but  each,  in  its  turn,  prevails  completely.  Modern  Europe  pre- 
sents us  with  examples  of  all  systems,  of  all  experiments  of  social 
organization ;  pure  or  mixed  monarchies,  theocracies,  republics, 
more  or  less  aristocratic,  have  thus  thrived  simultaneously,  one 
beside  the  other;  and,  notwithstanding  their  diversity,  they  have 
all  a  certain  resemblance,  a  certain  family  likeness,  which  it  is 
impossible  to  mistake. 

In  the  ideas  and  sentiments  of  Europe  there  is  the  same 
variety,  the  same  struggle.  The  theocratic,  monarchic,  aristo- 
cratic, and  popular  creeds,  cross,  combat,  limit,  and  modify  each 
other.     Open  the  boldest  writings  of  the  middle  ages;  never 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  21 

there  is  an  idea  followed  out  to  its  last  consequences.  The  part- 
isans of  absolute  power  recoil  suddenly  and  unconsciously 
before  the  results  of  their  own  doctrine ;  they  perceive  around 
them  ideas  and  influences  which  arrest  them,  and  prevent  them 
from  going  to  extremities.  The  democrats  obey  the  same  law. 
On  neither  part  exists  that  imperturbable  audacity,  that  blind 
determination  of  logic,  which  show  themselves  in  ancient  civil- 
izations. The  sentiments  offer  the  same  contrasts,  the  same 
variety;  an  energetic  love  of  independence,  side  by  side  with  a 
great  facility  of  submission;  a  singular  faithfulness  of  man  to 
man,  and,  at  the  same  time,  an  uncontrollable  wish  to  exert  free 
will,  to  shake  off  every  yoke,  and  to  live  for  one's  self,  without 
caring  for  any  other.  The  souls  of  men  are  as  different,  as 
agitated,  as  society. 

The  same  character  discovers  itself  in  modern  literature. 
We  cannot  but  agree  that,  as  regards  artistic  form  and  beauty, 
they  are  very  much  inferior  to  ancient  literature;  but,  as  re- 
gards depth  of  sentiment  and  of  ideas,  they  are  far  more  rich 
and  vigorous.  We  see  that  the  human  soul  has  been  moved 
upon  a  greater  number  of  points,  and  to  a  greater  depth.  Im- 
perfection of  form  results  from  this  very  cause.  The  richer  and 
more  numerous  the  materials,  the  more  difficult  it  is  to  reduce 
them  to  a  pure  and  simple  form.  That  which  constitutes  the 
beauty  of  a  composition,  of  that  which  we  call  form  in  works 
of  art,  is  clearness,  simplicity,  and  a  symbolic  unity  of  work- 
manship. With  the  prodigious  diversity  of  the  ideas  and  senti- 
ments of  European  civilization,  it  has  been  much  more  diffi- 
cult to  arrive  at  this  simplicity,  this  clearness. 

On  all  sides  then  this  predominant  character  of  modern 
civilization  discovers  itself.  It  has  no  doubt  had  this  disad- 
vantage, that,  when  we  consider  separately  such  or  such  a 
particular  development  of  the  human  mind  in  letters,  in  the 
arts,  in  all  directions  in  which  it  can  advance,  we  usually  find 
it  inferior  to  the  corresponding  development  in  ancient  civiliza- 
tions; but,  on  the  other  hand,  when  we  regard  it  in  the  ag- 
gregate, European  civilization  shows  itself  incomparably  richer 
than  any  other;  it  has  displayed  at  one  and  the  same  time 
many  more  different  developments.  Consequently  you  find 
that  it  has  existed  fifteen  centuries,  and  yet  is  still  in  a  state  of 
continuous  progression ;  it  has  not  advanced  nearly  so  rapidly 
as  the  Greek  civilization,  but  its  progress  has  never  ceased  to 
grow.  It  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  vast  career  which  lies  before 
it,  and  day  after  day  it  shoots  forward  more  rapidly,  because 
more  and  more  of  freedom  attends  its  movements.  While  in 
other  civilizations  the  exclusive,  or  at  least  the  excessively 
preponderating  dominion  of  a  single  principle,  of  a  single  form, 
has  been  the  cause  of  tyranny,  in  modern  Europe  the  diversity 


2i  GUIZOT 

of  elements  which  constitute  the  social  order,  the  impossibility 
under  which  they  have  been  placed  of  excluding  each  other, 
have  given  birth  to  the  freedom  which  prevails  in  the  present 
day.  Not  having  been  able  to  exterminate  each  other,  it  has 
become  necessary  that  various  principles  should  exist  together 
— that  they  should  make  between  them  a  sort  of  compact.  Each 
has  agreed  to  undertake  that  portion  of  the  development  which 
may  fall  to  its  share;  and  while  elsewhere  the  predominance 
of  a  principle  produced  tyrapny,  in  Europe  liberty  has  been 
the  result  of  the  variety  of  the  elements  of  civilization  and  of 
the  state  of  struggle  in  which  they  have  constantly  existed. 

This  constitutes  a  real  and  an  immense  superiority;  and  if 
we  investigate  yet  further,  if  we  penetrate  beyond  external 
facts  into  the  nature  of  things,  we  shall  discover  that  this 
superiority  is  legitimate,  and  acknowledged  by  reason  as  well 
as  proclaimed  by  facts.  Forgetting  for  a  moment  European 
civilization,  let  us  turn  our  attention  to  the  world  in  general, 
on  the  general  course  of  terrestrial  things.  What  character 
do  we  find?  How  goes  the  world?  It  moves  precisely  with 
this  diversity  and  variety  of  elements,  a  prey  to  this  constant 
struggle  which  we  have  remarked  in  European  civilization. 
Evidently  it  has  not  been  permitted  to  any  single  principle,  to 
any  particular  organization,  to  any  single  idea,  or  to  any  special 
force,  that  it  should  possess  itself  of  the  world,  molding  it  once 
for  all,  destroying  all  other  influences  to  reign  therein  itself 
exclusively. 

Various  powers,  principles  and  systems  mingle,  limit  each 
other,  and  struggle  without  ceasing,  in  turn  predominating  or 
predominated  over,  never  entirely  conquered  or  conquering. 
A  variety  of  forms,  of  ideas,  and  of  principles,  then,  struggles, 
their  efforts  after  a  certain  unity,  a  certain  ideal  which  perhaps 
can  never  be  attained,  but  to  which  the  human  race  tends  by 
freedom  and  work;  these  constitute  the  general  condition  of 
the  world.  European  civilization  is,  therefore,  the  faithful 
image  of  the  world:  like  the  course  of  things  in  the  world, 
it  is  neither  narrow,  exclusive,  nor  stationary.  For  the  first 
time,  I  believe,  the  character  of  specialty  has  vanished  from 
civilization ;  for  the  first  time  it  is  developed  as  variously,  as 
richly,  as  laboriously,  as  the  great  drama  of  the  universe. 

European  civilization  has  entered,  if  we  may  so  speak,  into 
the  eternal  truth,  into  the  plan  of  Providence;  it  progresses 
according  to  the  intentions  of  God.  This  is  the  rational  ac- 
count of  its  superiority. 

I  am  desirous  that  this  fundamental  and  distinguishing  char- 
acter of  European  civilization  should  continue  present  to  your 
minds  during  the  course  of  our  labors.  At  present  I  can  only 
make  the  affirmation:   the  development  of  facts  must  furnish 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  23 

the  proof.  It  will,  nevertheless,  you  will  agree,  be  a  strong  con- 
firmation of  my  assertion,  if  we  find,  even  in  the  cradle  of  our 
civilization,  the  causes  and  the  elements  of  the  character  which 
I  have  just  attributed  to  it:  if,  at  the  moment  of  its  birth,  at 
the  moment  of  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  we  recognize 
in  the  state  of  the  world,  in  the  facts  that,  from  the  earliest 
times,  have  concurred  to  form  European  civilization,  the  prin- 
ciple of  this  agitated  but  fruitful  diversity  which  distinguishes 
it.  I  am  about  to  attempt  this  investigation.  I  shall  examine 
the  condition  of  Europe  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and 
seek  to  discover,  from  institutions,  creeds,  ideas,  and  senti- 
ments, what  were  the  elements  bequeathed  by  the  ancient  to 
the  modern  world.  If,  in  these  elements,  we  shall  already 
find  impressed  the  character  which  I  have  just  described,  it 
will  have  acquired  with  you,  from  this  time  forth,  a  high  degree 
of  probability. 

First  of  all,  we  must  clearly  represent  to  ourselves  the  nature 
of  the  Roman  Empire,  and  how  it  was  formed. 

Rome  was,  in  its  origin,  only  a  municipality,  a  corporation. 
The  government  of  Rome  was  merely  the  aggregate  of  the 
institutions  which  were  suited  to  a  population  confined  within 
the  walls  of  a  city:  these  were  municipal  institutions,  that  is 
their  distinguishing  character. 

This  was  not  the  case  with  Rome  only.  If  we  turn  our  atten- 
tion to  Italy,  at  this  period,  we  find  around  Rome  nothing  but 
towns.  That  which  was  then  called  a  people  was  simply  a 
confederation  of  towns.  The  Latin  people  was  a  confederation 
of  Latin  towns.  The  Etruscans,  the  Samnites,  the  Sabines,  the 
people  of  Graecia  Magna,  may  all  be  described  in  the  same 
terms. 

There  was,  at  this  time,  no  coimtry — that  is  to  say,  the  coun- 
try was  wholly  unlike  that  which  at  present  exists ;  it  was  cul- 
tivated, as  was  necessary,  but  it  was  uninhabited.  The  pro- 
prietors of  lands  were  the  inhabitants  of  the  towns.  They 
went  forth  to  superintend  their  country  properties,  and  often 
took  with  them  a  certain  number  of  slaves ;  but  that  which 
we  at  present  call  the  country,  that  thin  population — sometimes 
in  isolated  habitations,  sometimes  in  villages — which  every- 
where covers  the  soil,  was  a  fact  almost  unknown  in  ancient 
Italy. 

When  Rome  extended  itself,  what  did  she  do?  Follow 
history,  and  you  will  see  that  she  conquered  or  founded  towns ; 
it  was  against  towns  that  she  fought,  with  towns  that  she  con- 
tracted alliances ;  it  was  also  into  towns  that  she  sent 
colonies.  The  history  of  the  conquest  of  the  world  by  Rome 
is  the  history  of  the  conquest  and  foundation  of  a  great  number 
of  towns.    In  the  East,  the  extension  of  Roman  dominion  does 


24  GUIZOT 

not  carry  altogether  this  aspect:  the  population  there  was 
otherwise  distributed  than  in  the  West — it  was  much  less  con- 
centrated in  towns.  But  as  we  have  to  do  here  with  the  Euro- 
pean population,  what  occurred  in  the  East  is  of  little  interest 
to  us. 

Confining  ourselves  to  the  West,  we  everywhere  discover 
the  fact  to  which  I  have  directed  your  attention.  In  Gaul,  in 
Spain,  you  meet  with  nothing  but  towns.  At  a  distance  from 
the  towns,  the  territory  is  covered  with  marshes  and  forests. 
Examine  the  character  of  the  Roman  monuments,  of  the  Roman 
roads.  You  have  great  roads,  which  reach  from  one  city  to  an- 
other; the  multiplicity  of  minor  roads,  which  now  cross  the 
country  in  all  directions,  was  then  unknown ;  you  have  nothing 
resembling  that  countless  number  of  villages,  country  seats 
and  churches,  which  have  been  scattered  over  the  country 
since  the  middle  ages.  Rome  has  left  us  nothing  but  im- 
mense monuments,  stamped  with  the  municipal  character,  and 
destined  for  a  numerous  population  collected  upon  one  spot. 
Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  the  Roman  world, 
you  will  find  this  almost  exclusive  preponderance  of  towns, 
and  the  social  non-existence  of  the  country. 

This  municipal  character  of  the  Roman  world  evidently 
rendered  unity,  the  social  bond  of  a  great  state,  extremely 
difficult  to  establish  and  maintain.  A  municipality  like  Rome 
had  been  able  to  conquer  the  world,  but  it  was  much  less  easy 
to  govern  and  organize  it.  Thus,  when  the  work  appeared 
completed,  when  all  the  West,  and  a  great  part  of  the  East, 
had  fallen  under  Roman  dominion,  you  behold  this  prodigious 
number  of  cities,  of  little  states,  made  for  isolation  and  in- 
dependence, disunite,  detach  themselves,  and  escape,  so  to  speak, 
in  all  directions.  This  was  one  of  the  causes  which  rendered 
necessary  the  Empire,  a  form  of  government  more  concen- 
trated, more  capable  of  holding  together  elements  so  slightly 
coherent.  The  Empire  endeavored  to  introduce  unity  and 
combination  into  this  scattered  society.  It  succeeded  up  to  a 
certain  point.  It  was  between  the  reigns  of  Augustus  and  Dio- 
cletian that,  at  the  same  time  that  civil  legislation  developed 
itself,  there  became  established  the  vast  system  of  administra- 
tive despotism  which  spread  over  the  Roman  world  a  net- 
work of  functionaries,  hierarchically  distributed,  well  linked 
together,  both  among  themselves  and  with  the  imperial  court, 
and  solely  applied  to  rendering  effective  in  society  the  will  of 
power,  and  in  transferring  to  power  the  tributes  and  energies 
of  society. 

And  not  only  did  this  system  succeed  in  rallying  and  in  hold- 
ing together  the  elements  of  the  Roman  world,  but  the  idea  of 
despotism,  of  central  power,  penetrated  minds  with  a  singular 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  25 

facility.  We  are  astonished  to  behold  rapidly  prevailing  through- 
out this  ill-united  assemblage  of  petty  republics,  this  association 
of  municipalities,  a  reverence  for  the  imperial  majesty  alone, 
august  and  sacred.  The  necessity  of  establishing  some  bond 
between  all  these  portions  of  the  Roman  world  must  have  been 
very  pressing,  to  insure  so  easy  an  access  to  the  mind  for  the 
faith  and  almost  the  sentiments  of  despotism. 

It  was  with  these  creeds,  with  this  administrative  organization, 
and  with  the  military  organization  which  was  combined  with  it, 
that  the  Roman  Empire  struggled  against  the  dissolution  at 
work  inwardly,  and  against  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians  from 
without.  It  struggled  for  a  long  time,  in  a  continual  state  of 
decay,  but  always  defending  itself.  At  last  a  moment  came  in 
which  dissolution  prevailed;  neither  the  skill  of  despotism  nor 
the  indifference  of  servitude  sufficed  to  support  this  huge  body. 
In  the  fourth  century  it  everywhere  disunited  and  dismembered 
itself;  the  barbarians  entered  on  all  sides;  the  provinces  no 
longer  resisted,  no  longer  troubled  themselves  concerning  the 
general  destiny.  At  this  time  a  singular  idea  suggested  itself 
to  some  of  the  emperors;  they  desired  to  try  whether  hopes  of 
general  liberty,  a  confederation — a  system  analogous  to  that 
which,  in  the  present  day,  we  call  representative  government — 
would  not  better  defend  the  unity  of  the  Roman  Empire  than 
despotic  administration.  Here  is  a  rescript  of  Honorius  and 
Theodosius,  the  younger,  addressed,  in  the  year  418,  to  the  pre- 
fect of  Gaul,  the  only  purpose  of  which  was  to  attempt  to  estab- 
lish in  the  south  of  Gaul  a  sort  of  representative  government, 
and,  with  its  aid,  to  maintain  the  unity  of  the  Empire. 

"  Rescript  of  the  emperors  Honorius  and  Theodosius  the 
younger,  addressed,  in  the  year  418,  to  the  prefect  of  the 
Gauls,  sitting  in  the  town  of  Aries. 

"  Honorius  and  Theodosius,  Augusti,  to  Agricola,  prefect  of 
the  Gauls: 

"  Upon  the  satisfactory  statement  that  your  Magnificence  has 
made  to  us,  among  other  information  palpably  advantageous  to 
the  state,  we  decree  the  force  of  the  law  in  perpetuity  to  the 
following  ordinances,  to  which  the  inhabitants  of  our  seven 
provinces  will  owe  obedience,  they  being  such  that  they  them- 
selves might  have  desired  and  demanded  them.  Seeing  that 
persons  in  office,  or  special  deputies  from  motives  of  public  or 
private  utility,  not  only  from  each  of  the  provinces,  but  also  from 
every  town,  often  present  themselves  before  your  Magnificence, 
either  to  render  accounts  or  to  treat  of  things  relative  to  the 
interest  of  proprietors,  we  have  judged  that  it  would  be  a  season- 
able and  profitable  thing  that,  from  the  date  of  the  present  year, 


26  GUIZOT 

there  should  be  annually,  at  a  fixed  time,  an  assemblage  held  in 
the  metropolis — that  is,  in  the  town  of  Aries,  for  the  inhabitants 
of  the  seven  provinces.  By  this  institution  we  have  in  view  to 
provide  equally  for  general  and  particular  interests.  In  the  first 
place,  by  the  meeting  of  the  most  notable  of  the  inhabitants  in 
the  illustrious  presence  of  the  prefect,  if  motives  of  public  order 
have  not  called  him  elsewhere,  the  best  possible  information  may 
be  gained  upon  every  subject  under  deliberation.  Nothing  of 
that  which  will  have  been  treated  of  and  decided  upon,  after  a 
ripe  consideration,  will  escape  the  knowledge  of  any  of  the 
provinces,  and  those  who  shall  not  have  been  present  at  the 
assembly  will  be  bound  to  follow  the  same  rules  of  justice  and 
equity.  Moreover,  in  ordaining  that  an  annual  assembly  be  held 
in  the  city  of  Constantine.*  we  believe  that  we  are  doing  a  thing 
not  only  advantageous  to  the  public  good,  but  also  adapted  to 
multiply  social  relations.  Indeed,  the  city  is  so  advantageously 
situated,  strangers  come  there  in  such  numbers,  and  it  enjoys 
such  an  extensive  commerce,  that  everything  finds  its  way  there 
which  grows  or  is  manufactured  in  other  places.  All  admirable 
things  that  the  rich  East,  perfumed  Arabia,  delicate  Assyria, 
fertile  Africa,  beautiful  Spain,  valiant  Gaul  produce,  abound  in 
this  place  with  such  profusion,  that  whatever  is  esteemed 
magnificent  in  the  various  parts  of  the  world  seems  there  the 
produce  of  the  soil.  Besides,  the  junction  of  the  Rhone  with 
the  Tuscan  sea  approximates  and  renders  almost  neighbors 
those  countries  which  the  first  traverses,  and  the  second  bathes 
in  its  windings.  Thus,  since  the  entire  earth  places  at  the 
service  of  this  city  all  that  it  has  most  worthy — since  the  peculiar 
productions  of  all  countries  are  transported  hither  by  land,  by 
sea,  and  by  the  course  of  rivers,  by  help  of  sails,  of  oars,  and  of 
wagons — how  can  our  Gaul  do  otherwise  than  behold  a  benefit 
in  the  command  which  we  give  to  convoke  a  public  assembly  in 
a  city,  wherein  are  united,  as  it  were,  by  the  gift  of  God,  all  the 
enjoyments  of  life,  and  all  the  facilities  of  commerce? 

"  The  illustrious  prefect  Petronius,t  through  a  laudable  and 
reasonable  motive,  formerly  commanded  that  this  custom  should 
be  observed ;  but  as  the  practice  thereof  was  interrupted  by  the 
confusion  of  the  times,  and  by  the  reign  of  usupers,  we  have 
resolved  to  revive  it  in  vigor  by  the  authority  of  our  wisdom. 
Thus,  then,  dear  and  beloved  cousin  Agricola,  your  illustrious 
Magnificence,  conforming  yourself  to  our  present  ordinance, 
and  to  the  custom  established  by  your  predecessors,  will  cause 
to  be  observed  throughout  the  provinces  the  following  rules: 

*  Constantine  the  Great  had  a  smgular  liking  for  the  town  of  Aries.  It  was 
he  who  established  there  the  seat  of  the  Gaulish  prefecture ;  he  desired  also  that 
it  should  bear  his  name,  but  custom  prevailed  against  his  wish. 

t  Petronius  was  prefect  of  the  Gauls  between  the  years  402  and  408. 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  27 

"  *  Let  all  persons  who  are  honored  with  public  functions,  or 
who  are  proprietors  of  domains,  and  all  judges  of  provinces,  be 
informed  that,  each  year,  they  are  to  assemble  in  council  in  the 
city  of  Aries,  between  the  ides  of  August  and  those  of  September, 
the  days  of  convocation  and  of  sitting  being  determined  at  their 
pleasure. 

"  '  Novem  Populinia  and  the  second  Aquitaine,  being  the  most 
distant  provinces,  should  their  judges  be  detained  by  indispen- 
sable occupations,  may  send  deputies  in  their  place,  according 
to  custom. 

"  '  Those  who  shall  neglect  to  appear  at  the  place  assigned  and 
at  the  time  appointed,  shall  pay  a  fine,  which  for  the  judges, 
shall  be  five  pounds  of  gold,  and  three  pounds  for  the  members 
of  the  curies'^  and  other  dignitaries.' 

"  We  propose,  by  this  means,  to  confer  great  advantages  and 
favor  on  the  inhabitants  of  our  provinces.  We  feel,  also,  assured 
of  adding  to  the  ornaments  of  the  city  of  Aries,  to  the  fidehty  of 
which  we  are  so  much  indebted,  according  to  our  brother  and 
patrician,  f 

"  Given  on  the  15th  of  the  calends  of  May;  received  at  Aries 
on  the  loth  of  the  calends  of  June." 

The  provinces  and  the  towns  refused  the  benefit;  no  one  would 
nominate  the  deputies,  no  one  would  go  to  Aries.  Central- 
ization and  unity  were  contrary  to  the  primitive  character  of 
that  society;  the  local  and  munificent  spirit  reappeared  every- 
where, and  the  impossibility  of  reconstituting  a  general  society 
or  country  became  evident.  The  towns  confined  themselves, 
each  to  its  own  walls  and  its  own  affairs,  and  the  empire  fell 
because  none  wished  to  be  of  the  empire,  because  citizens 
desired  to  be  only  of  their  own  city.  Thus  we  again  discover, 
at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  the  same  fact  which  we  have 
detected  in  the  cradle  of  Rome,  namely,  the  predominance  of  the 
municipal  form  and  spirit.  The  Roman  world  had  returned  to 
its  first  condition;  towns  had  constituted  it;  it  dissolved;  and 
towns  remained. 

In  the  municipal  system  we  see  what  ancient  Roman  civili- 
zation has  bequeathed  to  modern  Europe;  that  system  was  very 
irregular,  much  weakened  and  far  inferior,  no  doubt,  to  what 
it  had  been  in  earlier  times;  but,  nevertheless,  the  only  real,  the 
only  constituted  system  which  had  outlived  all  the  elements  of 
the  Roman  world. 

When  I  say  alone  I  make  a  mistake.  Another  fact,  another 
idea  equally  survived;  the  idea  of  the  empire,  the  name  of  em- 

*  The  municipal  bodies  of  Roman  towns  were  called  curia,  and  the  members 
of  those  bodies,  who  were  very  numerous,  were  called  curiales. 

t  Constantine,  the  second  husband  of  Placidius,  whom  Honorius  had  chosen 
for  colleague  in  421. 


28  GUIZOT 

peror,  the  idea  of  imperial  majesty,  of  an  absolute  and  sacred 
power  attached  to  the  name  of  emperor.  These  are  the  elements 
which  Rome  has  transmitted  to  European  civilization ;  upon  one 
hand,  the  municipal  system,  its  habits,  rules,  precedents,  the 
principle  of  freedom;  on  the  other,  a  general  and  uniform  civil 
legislation,  the  idea  of  absolute  power,  of  sacred  majesty,  of  the 
emperor,  the  principle  of  order  and  subjection. 

But  there  was  formed  at  the  same  time,  in  the  heart  of  the 
Roman  society,  a  society  of  a  very  diflferent  nature,  founded 
upon  totally  diflferent  principles,  animated  by  diflferent  senti- 
ments, a  society  which  was  about  to  infuse  into  modern  Euro- 
pean society  elements  of  a  character  wholly  diflferent ;  I  speak  of 
the  Christian  Church.  I  say  the  Christian  church,  and  not 
Christianity.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  and  at  the  beginning  of 
the  fifth  century  Christianity  was  no  longer  merely  an  individual 
belief,  it  was  an  institution ;  it  was  constituted ;  it  had  its  govern- 
ment, a  clergy,  an  hierarchy  calculated  for  the  diflferent  functions 
of  the  clergy,  revenues,  means  of  independent  action,  rallying 
points  suited  for  a  great  society,  provincial,  national  and  general 
councils,  and  the  custom  of  debating  in  common  upon  the 
aflfairs  of  the  society.  In  a  word,  Christianity,  at  this  epoch,  was 
y  not  only  a  religion,  it  was  also  a  church. 

Had  it  not  been  a  church  I  cannot  say  what  might  have 
happened  to  it  amid  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  I  confine 
myself  to  simply  human  considerations;  I  put  aside  every  ele- 
ment which  is  foreign  to  the  natural  consequences  of  natural 
facts;  had  Christianity  been,  as  in  the  earlier  times,  no  more  than 
a  belief,  a  sentiment,  an  individual  conviction,  we  may  believe 
that  it  would  have  sunk  amidst  the  dissolution  of  the  empire  and 
the  invasion  of  the  barbarians.  In  later  times,  in  Asia  and  in  all 
the  north  of  Africa,  it  sunk  under  an  invasion  of  the  same  nature, 
under  the  invasion  of  the  Moslem  barbarians;  it  sunk  then, 
although  it  subsisted  in  the  form  of  an  institution,  or  constituted 
church.  With  much  more  reason  might  the  same  thing  have 
happened  at  the  moment  of  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  There 
existed,  at  that  time,  none  of  those  means  by  which,  in  the 
present  day,  moral  influences  establish  themselves  or  oflfer  resist- 
ance, independently  of  institutions;  none  of  those  means  whereby 
a  pure  truth,  a  pure  idea  obtains  a  great  empire  over  minds, 
governs  actions  and  determines  events.  Nothing  of  the  kind 
existed  in  the  fourth  century  to  give  a  like  authority  to  ideas  and 
to  personal  sentiments.  It  is  clear  that  a  society  strongly  organ- 
ized and  strongly  governed  was  indispensable  to  struggle  against 
such  a  disaster,  and  to  issue  victorious  from  such  a  storm.  I  do 
not  think  that  I  say  more  than  the  truth  in  aflfirming  that  at  the 
end  of  the  fourth  and  the  commencement  of  the  fifth  centuries 
it  was  the  Christian  church  that  saved  Christianity;  it  was  the 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE 


29 


church  with  its  institutions,  its  magistrates  and  its  power,  that 
vigorously  resisted  the  internal  dissolution  of  the  empire  and 
barbarism ;  that  conquered  the  barbarians  and  became  the  bond, 
the  medium  and  the  principle  of  civilization  between  the  Roman 
and  barbarian  worlds.  It  is,  then,  the  condition  of  the  church 
rather  than  that  of  religion,  properly  so  called,  that  we  must  look 
to  in  order  to  discover  what  Christianity  has,  since  then,  added 
to  modern  civilization,  and  what  new  elements  it  has  introduced 
therein.     What  was  the  Christian  church  at  that  period  ? 

When  we  consider,  always  under  a  purely  human  point  of 
view,  the  various  revolutions  which  have  accomplished  them- 
selves during  the  development  of  Christianity,  from  the  time  of 
its  origin  up  to  the  fifth  century;  if,  I  repeat,  we  consider  it 
simply  as  a  community  and  not  as  a  religious  creed,  we  find  that 
It  passed  through  three  essentially  different  states. 

In  the  very  earliest  period,  the  Christian  society  presents  itself 
as  a  simple  association  of  a  common  creed  and  common  senti- 
ments; the  first  Christians  united  to  enjoy  together  the  same 
emotions,  and  the  same  religious  convictions.  We  find  among 
them  no  system  of  determinate  doctrines,  no  rules,  no  discipline, 
no  body  of  magistrates. 

Of  course,  no  society,  however  newly  born,  however  weakly 
constituted  it  may  be,  exists  without  a  moral  power  which 
animates  and  directs  it.  In  the  various  Christian  congregations 
there  were  men  who  preached,  taught  and  morally  governed  the 
congregation,  but  there  was  no  formal  magistrate,  no  recognized 
discipline;  a  simple  association  caused  by  a  community  of  creed 
and  sentiments  was  the  primitive  condition  of  the  Christian 
society. 

In  proportion  as  it  advanced — and  very  speedily,  since  traces 
are  visible  in  the  earliest  monuments — a  body  of  doctrines,  of 
rules,  of  discipline,  and  of  magistrates,  began  to  appear;  one 
kind  of  magistrates  were  called  Trpea/Svrepoiy  or  ancients,  who 
became  the  priests;  another,  eTnafxoiToi,  or  inspectors,  or 
superintendents,  who  became  bishops ;  a  third  BtafiovoL,  or 
deacons,  who  were  charged  with  the  care  of  the  poor,  and  with 
the  distribution  of  alms. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  determine  what  were  the  precise 
functions  of  these  various  magistrates ;  the  line  of  demarcation 
was  probably  very  vague  and  variable,  but  what  is  clear  is  that 
an  establishment  was  organized.  Still,  a  peculiar  character  pre- 
vails in  this  second  period :  the  preponderance  and  rule  belonged 
to  the  body  of  the  faithful.  It  was  the  body  of  the  faithful  which 
prevailed,  both  as  to  the  choice  of  functionaries,  and  as  to  the 
adoption  of  discipline,  and  even  doctrine.  The  church  govern- 
ment and  the  Christian  people  were  not  as  yet  separated.  They 
did  not  exist  apart  from,  and  independently  of,  one  another; 


30 


GUIZOT 


and  the  Christian  people  exercised  the  principal  influence  in  the 
society. 

In  the  third  period  all  was  different.  A  clergy  existed  who 
were  distinct  from  the  people ;  a  body  of  priests  who  had  their 
own  riches,  jurisdiction,  and  peculiar  constitution  ;  in  a  word,  an 
entire  government,  which  in  itself  was  a  complete  society,  a 
society  provided  with  all  the  means  of  existence,  independently 
of  the  society  to  which  it  had  reference,  and  over  which  it  ex- 
tended its  influence.  Such  was  the  third  stage  of  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  Christian  church ;  such  was  the  form  in  which  it  ap- 
peared at  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  The  government 
was  not  completely  separated  from  the  people ;  there  has  never 
been  a  parallel  kind  of  government,  and  less  in  religious  matters 
than  in  any  others ;  but  in  the  relations  of  the  clergy  to  the  faith- 
ful, the  clergy  ruled  almost  without  control. 

The  Christian  clergy  had  moreover  another  and  very  different 
source  of  influence.  The  bishops  and  the  priests  became  the 
principal  municipal  magistrates.  You  have  seen,  that  of  the 
Roman  Empire  there  remained,  properly  speaking,  nothing  but 
the  municipal  system.  It  had  happened,  from  the  vexations  of 
despotism  and  the  ruin  of  the  towns,  that  the  curiales,  or  mem- 
bers of  the  municipal  bodies,  had  become  discouraged  and 
apathetic;  on  the  contrary,  the  bishops,  and  the  body  of  priests, 
full  of  life  and  zeal,  offered  themselves  naturally  for  the  super- 
intendence and  direction  of  all  matters.  We  should  be  wrong 
to  reproach  them  for  this,  to  tax  them  with  usurpation;  it  was 
all  in  the  natural  course  of  things;  the  clergy  alone  were  morally 
strong  and  animated ;  they  became  everywhere  powerful.  Such 
is  the  law  of  the  universe. 

The  marks  of  this  revolution  are  visible  in  all  the  legislation 
of  the  emperors  at  this  period.  If  you  open  the  code,  either  of 
Theodosius  or  of  Justinian,  you  will  find  numerous  regulations 
which  remit  municipal  affairs  to  the  clergy  and  the  bishops. 
Here  are  some  of  them : 

"  Cod.  Just.  I.  I,  tit.  IV.,  de  episcopali  audientid.  §  26. — 
With  respect  to  the  yearly  affairs  of  cities,  whether  they  concern 
the  ordinary  revenues  of  the  city,  either  from  funds  arising  from 
the  property  of  the  city,  or  from  private  gifts  or  legacies,  or  from 
any  other  source;  whether  public  works,  or  depots  of  provisions, 
or  aqueducts,  or  the  maintenance  of  baths,  or  ports,  or  the  con- 
struction of  walls  or  towers,  or  the  repairing  of  bridges  or  roads, 
or  trials  in  which  the  city  may  be  engaged  in  reference  to  public 
or  private  interests,  we  ordain  as  follows :  The  very  pious  bishop 
and  three  notables  chosen  from  among  the  first  men  of  the  city, 
shall  meet  together;  they  shall,  each  year,  examine  the  works 
done;  they  shall  take  care  that  those  who  conduct  them,  or  who 
have  conducted  them,  shall  regulate  them,  with  precision,  render 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  31 

their  accounts,  and  show  that  they  have  duly  performed  their 
engagements  in  the  administration,  whether  of  the  pubHc  monu- 
ments, or  of  the  sums  appointed  for  provisions  or  baths,  or  of 
expenses  in  the  maintenance  of  roads,  aqueducts,  or  any  other 
work. 

"  Ihid.  §  30. — With  regard  to  the  guardianship  of  young 
persons  of  the  first  or  second  age,  and  of  all  those  for  whom  the 
law  appoints  guardians,  if  their  fortune  does  not  exceed  500 
aurei,  we  ordain  that  the  nomination  of  the  president  of  the 
province  shall  not  be  waited  for,  as  this  gives  rise  to  great 
expenses,  particularly  if  the  said  president  do  not  reside  in  the 
city  in  which  it  is  necessary  to  provide  the  guardianship.  The 
nomination  of  guardians  shall  in  such  case  be  made  by  the 
magistrate  of  the  city  ...  in  concert  with  the  very  pious 
bishop  and  other  person  or  persons  invested  with  public  offices, 
if  there  be  more  than  one. 

"  Ihid  I.  1,  tit.  LV.,  de  defensoribus.  §  8. — We  desire  that 
the  defenders  of  the  cities,  being  well  instructed  in  the  holy 
mysteries  of  the  orthodox  faith,  be  chosen  and  instituted  by  the 
venerable  bishops,  the  priests,  the  notables,  the  proprietors,  and 
the  curiales.  As  regards  their  installation,  it  shall  be  referred  to 
the  glorious  power  of  the  pretorian  prefect,  in  order  that  their 
authority  may  have  infused  into  it  more  solidity  and  vigor  from 
the  letters  of  admission  of  his  Magnificence." 

I  might  cite  a  great  number  of  other  laws,  and  you  would 
everywhere  meet  with  the  fact  which  I  have  mentioned;  between 
the  municipal  system  of  the  Romans,  and  that  of  the  middle 
ages,  the  municipal-ecclesiastic  system  interposed;  the  prepon- 
derance of  the  clergy  in  the  affairs  of  the  city  succeeded  that  of 
the  ancient  municipal  magistrates,  and  preceded  the  organi- 
zation of  the  modern  municipal  corporations. 

You  perceive  what  prodigious  power  was  thus  obtained  by 
the  Christian  church,  as  well  by  its  own  constitution  as  by  its 
influence  upon  the  Christian  people,  and  by  the  part  which  it 
took  in  civil  affairs.  Thus,  from  that  epoch,  it  powerfully 
assisted  in  forming  the  character  and  furthering  the  develop- 
ment of  modern  civilization.  Let  us  endeavor  to  sum  up  the 
elements  which  it  from  that  time  introduced  into  it. 

And  first  of  all  there  was  an  immense  advantage  in  the 
presence  of  a  moral  influence,  of  a  moral  power,  of  a  power 
which  reposed  solely  upon  convictions  and  upon  moral  creeds 
and  sentiments,  amidst  the  deluge  of  material  power  which  at 
this  time  inundated  society.  Had  the  Christian  church  not 
existed,  the  whole  world  must  have  been  abandoned  to  purely 
material  force.  The  church  alone  exercised  a  moral  power.  It 
did  more;  it  sustained,  it  spread  abroad  the  idea  of  a  rule,  of  a 
law  superior  to  all  human  laws.    It  proposed  for  the  salvation 


32  GUIZOT 

of  humanity  the  fundamental  belief  that  there  exists,  above  all 
human  laws,  a  law  which  is  denominated,  according  to  periods 
and  customs,  sometimes  reason,  sometimes  the  divine  law,  but 
which,  everywhere  and  always,  is  the  same  law  under  different 
names. 

In  short,  with  the  church  originated  a  great  fact,  the  separation 
of  spiritual  and  temporal  power.  This  separation  is  the  source 
of  liberty  of  conscience;  it  is  founded  upon  no  other  principle 
but  that  which  is  the  foundation  of  the  most  perfect  and  extended 
freedom  of  conscience.  The  separation  of  temporal  and  spirit- 
ual power  is  based  upon  the  idea  that  physical  force  has  neither 
right  nor  influence  over  souls,  over  conviction,  over  truth.  It 
flows  from  the  distinction  established  between  the  world  of 
thought  and  the  world  of  action,  between  the  world  of  internal 
and  that  of  external  facts.  Thus  this  principle  of  liberty  of  con- 
science for  which  Europe  has  struggled  so  much,  and  suflfered 
so  much,  this  principle  which  prevailed  so  late,  and  often,  in  its 
progress,  against  the  inclination  of  the  clergy,  was  enunciated, 
under  the  name  of  the  separation  of  temporal  and  spiritual 
power,  in  the  very  cradle  of  European  civilization;  and  it  was 
the  Christian  church  which,  from  the  necessity  imposed  by  its 
situation  of  defending  itself  against  barbarism,  introduced  and 
maintained  it. 

'  The  presence,  then,  of  a  moral  influence,  the  maintenance  of 
a  divine  law,  and  the  separation  of  the  temporal  and  spiritual 
powers,  are  the  three  grand  benefits  which  the  Christian  church 
in  the  fifth  century  conferred  upon  the  European  world. 

Even  at  that  time,  however,  all  its  influences  were  not  equally 
salutary.  Already,  in  the  fifth  century,  there  appeared  in  the 
church  certain  unwholesome  principles,  which  have  played  a 
great  part  in  the  development  of  our  civilization.  Thus,  at  this 
period,  there  prevailed  within  it  the  separation  of  governors  and 
the  governed,  the  attempt  to  establish  the  independence  of 
-.governors  as  regards  the  governed,  to  impose  laws  upon  the 
governed,  to  possess  their  mind,  their  life,  without  the  free  con- 
sent of  their  reason  and  of  their  will.  The  church,  moreover, 
endeavored  to  render  the  theocratic  principle  predominant  in 
society,  to  usurp  the  temporal  power,  to  reign  exclusively.  And 
when  it  could  not  succeed  in  obtaining  temporal  dominion,  in 
inducing  the  prevalence  of  the  theocratic  principle,  it  allied  itself 
with  temporal  princes,  and,  in  order  to  share,  supported  their 
absolute  power  at  the  expense  of  the  liberty  of  the  people. 

Such  were  the  principles  of  civilization  which  Europe,  in  the 
fifth  century,  derived  from  the  church  and  from  the  Empire.  It 
was  in  this  condition  that  the  barbarians  found  the  Roman 
world,  and  came  to  take  possession  of  it.  In  order  to  fully 
understand  all  the  elements  which  met  and  mixed  in  the  cradle 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  33 

of  our  civilization,  it  only  remains  for  us  to  study  the  barba- 
rians. 

When  I  speak  of  the  barbarians,  you  understand  that  we  have 
nothing  to  do  here  with  their  history;  narrative  is  not  our 
present  business.  You  know  that  at  this  period  the  conquerors 
of  the  Empire  were  nearly  all  of  the  same  race;  they  were  all 
Germans,  except  some  Sclavonic  tribes,  the  Alani,  for  example. 
We  know  also  that  they  were  all  in  pretty  nearly  the  same  stage 
of  civilization.  Some  difference,  indeed,  might  have  existed 
between  them  in  this  respect,  according  to  the  greater  or  less 
degree  of  connection  which  the  different  tribes  had  had  with  the 
Roman  world.  Thus,  no  doubt  the  Goths  were  more  advanced, 
possessed  milder  manners  than  the  Franks.  But  in  considering 
matters  under  a  general  point  of  view,  and  in  their  results  as 
regards  ourselves,  this  original  difference  of  civilization  among 
the  barbarous  people  is  of  no  importance. 

It  is  the  general  condition  of  society  among  the  barbarians 
that  we  need  to  understand.  But  this  is  a  subject  with  which,  at 
the  present  day,  it  is  very  difficult  to  make  ourselves  acquainted. 
We  obtain,  without  much  difficulty,  a  comprehension  of  the 
Roman  municipal  system,  of  the  Christian  church;  their  influ- 
ence has  been  continued  up  to  our  own  days.  We  find  traces  of 
it  in  numerous  institutions  and  actual  facts ;  we  have  a  thousand 
means  of  recognizing  and  explaining  them.  But  the  customs 
and  social  condition  of  the  barbarians  have  completely  perished. 
We  are  compelled  to  make  them  out  either  from  the  earliest 
historical  monuments,  or  by  an  effort  of  the  imagination. 

There  is  a  sentiment,  a  fact  which,  before  all  things,  it  is 
necessary  that  we  should  well  understand  in  order  to  represent 
faithfully  to  one's  self  the  barbaric  character:  the  pleasure  of 
individual  independence;  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  one's  self 
with  vigor  and  liberty,  amidst  the  chances  of  the  world  and  of 
life;  the  delights  of  activity  without  labor;  the  taste  for  an 
adventurous  career,  full  of  uncertainty,  inequality  and  peril. 
Such  was  the  predominating  sentiment  of  the  barbarous  state, 
the  moral  want  which  put  in  motion  these  masses  of  human 
beings.  In  the  present  day,  locked  up  as  we  are  in  so  regular  a 
society,  it  is  difficult  to  realize  this  sentiment  to  one's  self  with 
all  the  power  which  it  exercised  over  the  barbarians  of  the  fourth 
and  fifth  centuries.  There  is  only  one  work  which,  in  my 
opinion,  contains  this  characteristic  of  barbarism  stamped  in 
all  its  energy — "  The  History  of  the  Conquest  of  England  by  the 
Normans,"  of  M.  Thierry,  the  only  book  wherein  the  motives, 
tendencies  and  impulses  which  actuate  men  in  a  social  con- 
dition, bordering  on  barbarism,  are  felt  and  reproduced  with 
a  really  Homeric  faithfulness.  Nowhere  else  do  we  see  so  well 
the  nature  of  a  barbarian  and  of  the  life  of  a  barbarian.  Some- 
3 


34  GUIZOT 

thing  of  this  sort  is  also  found,  though,  in  my  opinion,  in  a 
much  lower  degree,  with  much  less  simplicity,  much  less  truth, 
in  Cooper's  romances  upon  the  savages  of  America.  There  is 
something  in  the  life  of  the  American  savages,  in  the  relations 
and  the  sentiments  they  bear  with  them  in  the  middle  of  the 
woods,  that  recalls,  up  to  a  certain  point,  the  manners  of  the 
ancient  Germans.  No  doubt  these  pictures  are  somewhat  ideal- 
ized, somewhat  poetic;  the  dark  side  of  the  barbaric  manners 
and  life  is  not  presented  to  us  in  all  its  grossness.  I  speak  not 
only  of  the  evils  induced  by  these  manners  upon  the  social  state, 
but  of  the  internal  and  individual  condition  of  the  barbarian 
himself.  There  was  within  this  passionate  want  of  personal 
independence  something  more  gross  and  more  material  than 
one  would  be  led  to  conceive  from  the  work  of  M.  Thierry; 
there  was  a  degree  of  brutality  and  of  apathy  which  is  not  always 
exactly  conveyed  by  his  recitals.  Nevertheless,  when  we  look 
to  the  bottom  of  the  question,  notwithstanding  this  alloy  of 
brutality,  of  materialism,  of  dull,  stupid  selfishness,  the  love  of 
independence  is  a  noble  and  a  moral  sentiment,  which  draws  its 
power  from  the  moral  nature  of  man;  it  is  the  pleasure  of  feeling 
one's  self  a  man,  the  sentiment  of  personality,  of  human  spon- 
taneity, in  its  free  development. 

It  was  through  the  German  barbarians  that  this  sentiment 
was  introduced  into  European  civilization;  it  was  unknown  in 
the  Roman  world,  unknown  in  the  Christian  church,  and 
unknown  in  almost  all  the  ancient  civilizations.  When  you  find 
liberty  in  ancient  civilizations,  it  is  political  liberty,  the  liberty 
of  the  citizen :  man  strove  not  for  his  personal  liberty,  but  for  his 
liberty  as  a  citizen:  he  belonged  to  an  association,  he  was 
devoted  to  an  association,  he  was  ready  to  sacrifice  himself  to 
an  association.  It  was  the  same  with  the  Christian  church:  a 
sentiment  of  strong  attachment  to  the  Christian  corporation,  of 
devotion  to  its  laws,  and  a  lively  desire  to  extend  its  empire;  or 
rather,  the  religious  sentiment  induced  a  reaction  of  man  upon 
himself,  upon  his  soul,  an  internal  effort  to  subdue  his  own 
liberty,  and  to  submit  himself  to  the  will  of  his  faith.  But  the 
sentiment  of  personal  independence,  a  love  of  liberty  displaying 
itself  at  all  risks,  without  any  other  motive  but  that  of  satisfying 
itself;  this  sentiment,  I  repeat,  was  unknown  to  the  Roman  and 
to  the  Christian  society.  It  was  by  the  barbarians  that  it  was 
brought  in  and  deposited  in  the  cradle  of  modern  civilization, 
wherein  it  has  played  so  conspicuous  a  part,  has  produced  such 
worthy  results,  that  it  is  impossible  to  help  reckoning  it  as  one 
of  its  fundamental  elements. 

There  is  a  second  fact,  a  second  element  of  civilization,  for 
which  we  are  equally  indebted  to  the  barbarians:  this  is  military 
clientship;  the  bond  which  established  itself  between  individuals, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  35 

between  warriors,  and  which,  without  destroying  the  liberty  of 
each,  without  even  in  the  beginning  destroying,  beyond  a  certain 
point,  the  equahty  which  almost  completely  existed  between 
them,  nevertheless  founded  an  hierarchial  subordination,  and 
gave  birth  to  that  aristocratical  organization  which  afterward 
became  feudalism.  The  foundation  of  this  relation  was  the 
attachment  of  man  to  man,  the  fidelity  of  individual  to  indi- 
vidual, without  external  necessity,  and  without  obligation  based 
upon  the  general  principles  of  society.  In  the  ancient  republics 
you  see  no  man  attached  freely  and  especially  to  any  other  man  ; 
they  were  all  attached  to  the  city.  Among  the  barbarians  it  was 
between  individuals  that  the  social  bond  was  formed;  first  by 
the  relation  of  the  chief  to  his  companion,  when  they  lived  in 
the  condition  of  a  band  of  wandering  over  Europe;  and  later, 
by  the  relation  of  suzerain  to  vassal.  This  second  principle, 
which  has  played  so  great  a  part  in  the  history  of  modern  civili- 
zation, this  devotion  of  man  to  man,  came  to  us  from  the  barba- 
rians ;  it  is  from  their  manners  that  it  has  passed  into  ours. 

I  ask  you,  was  I  wrong  in  saying  at  the  beginning  that 
modern  civilization,  even  in  its  cradle,  had  been  as  varied,  as 
agitated  and  as  confused  as  I  have  endeavored  to  describe  it  to 
you  in  the  general  picture  I  have  given  you  of  it?  Is  it  not  true 
that  we  have  now  discovered,  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
almost  all  the  elements  which  unite  in  the  progressive  develop- 
ment of  our  civilization?    We  have  found,  at  that  time,  three  . 

wholly    different    societies:    the    municipal    society,    the    last  l ■ 

remains  of  the  Roman  Empire,  the  Christian  society,  and  the ' 
barbaric  society.  We  find  these  societies  very  variously  organ- 
ized, founded  upon  totally  different  principles,  inspiring 
men  with  wholly  different  sentiments ;  we  find  the  craving  after 
the  most  absolute  independence  side  by  side  with  the  most 
complete  submission;  military  patronage  side  by  side  with 
ecclesiastical  dominion ;  the  spiritual  and  temporal  powers  every- 
where present;  the  canons  of  the  church,  the  learned  legislation 
of  the  Romans,  the  almost  unwritten  customs  of  the  barbarians; 
everywhere  the  mixture,  or  rather  the  co-existence  of  the  most 
diverse  races,  languages,  social  situations,  manners,  ideas  and 
impressions.  Herein  I  think  we  have  a  sufficient  proof  of  the 
faithfulness  of  the  general  character  under  which  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  present  our  civilization  to  you. 

No  doubt  this  confusion,  this  diversity,  this  struggle,  have 
cost  us  very  dear;  these  have  been  the  cause  of  the  slow  progress 
of  Europe,  of  the  storms  and  sufferings  to  which  she  has  been 
a  prey.  Nevertheless,  I  do  not  think  we  need  regret  them.  To 
people,  as  well  as  to  individuals,  the  chance  of  the  most  complete 
and  varied  development,  the  chance  of  an  almost  unlimited  prog- 
ress in  all  directions,  compensates  of  itself  alone  for  all  that  it 


3^  GUIZOt 

may  cost  to  obtain  the  right  of  casting  for  it.  And  all  things 
considered,  this  state,  so  agitated,  so  toilsome,  so  violent,  has 
availed  much  more  than  the  simplicity  with  which  other  civili- 
zations present  themselves;  the  human  race  has  gained  thereby 
more  than  it  has  suffered. 

We  are  now  acquainted  with  the  general  features  of  the  con- 
dition in  which  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  left  the  world;  we 
are  acquainted  with  the  different  elements  which  were  agitated 
and  became  mingled,  in  order  to  give  birth  to  European  civili- 
zation. Henceforth  we  shall  see  them  advancing  and  acting 
under  our  eyes.  In  the  next  lecture  I  shall  endeavor  to  show 
what  they  became,  and  what  they  effected  in  the  epoch  which  we 
are  accustomed  to  call  the  times  of  barbarism;  that  is  to  say, 
while  the  chaos  of  invasion  yet  existed. 


THIRD   LECTURE. 

I  HAVE  placed  before  you  the  fundamental  elements  of 
European  civilization,  tracing  them  to  its  very  cradle,  at 
the  moment  of  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  I  have 
endeavored  to  give  you  a  glimpse  beforehand  of  their  diversity, 
and  their  constant  struggle,  and  to  show  you  that  no  one  of 
them  succeeded  in  reigning  over  our  society,  or  at  least  in 
reigning  over  it  so  completely  as  to  enslave  or  expel  the  others. 
We  have  seen  that  this  was  the  distinguishing  character  of 
European  civilization.  We  now  come  to  its  history  at  its 
commencement,  in  the  ages  which  it  is  customary  to  call  the 
barbarous. 

At  the  first  glance  we  cast  upon  this  epoch  it  is  impossible 
not  to  be  struck  with  a  fact  which  seems  to  contradict  what 
we  have  lately  said.  When  you  examine  certain  notions  which 
are  accredited  concerning  the  antiquities  of  modern  Europe, 
you  will  perceive  that  the  various  elements  of  our  civiliza- 
tion, the  monarchical,  theocratical,  aristocratical,  and  demo- 
cratical  principles,  all  pretend  that  European  society  originally 
belonged  to  them,  and  that  they  have  only  lost  the  sole  dominion 
by  the  usurpation  of  contrary  principles.  Question  all  that  has 
been  written,  ;all  that  has  been  said  upon  this  subject,  and  you 
will  see  that  all  the  systems  whereby  our  beginnings  are  sought 
to  be  represented  or  explained  maintain  the  exclusive  predom- 
inance of  one  or  other  of  the  elements  of  European  civilization. 

Thus  there  is  a  school  of  feudal  publicists,  of  whom  the 
most  celebrated  is  M.  de  Boulainvilliers,  who  pretend  that, 
after  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  it  was  the  conquering 
nation,  subsequently  become  the  nobility,  which  possessed  all 
powers  and  rights;  that  society  was  its  domain;  that  kings 
and  peoples  have  despoiled  it  of  this  domain ;  that  aristocratic 
organization  was  the  primitive  and  true  form  of  Europe. 

Beside  this  school  you  will  find  that  of  the  monarchists,  the 
Abbe  Dubois,  for  instance,  who  maintain,  on  the  contrary, 
that  it  was  to  royalty  European  society  belonged.  The  Ger- 
man kings,  say  they,  inherited  all  the  rights  of  the  Roman 
emperors ;  they  had  even  been  called  in  by  the  ancient  nations ; 
the  Gauls  among  others;  they  alone  ruled  legitimately;  all 
the  acquisitions  of  the  aristocracy  were  only  encroachments 
upon  monarchy. 

37 


38  GUIZOT 

A  third  party  presents  itself,  that  of  the  liberal  publicists, 
republicans,  democrats,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  them.  Con- 
sult the  Abbe  de  Mably ;  according  to  him,  it  is  to  the  system 
of  free  institutions,  to  the  association  of  free  men,  to  the 
people  properly  so  called,  that  the  government  of  society  de- 
volved from  the  period  of  the  fifth  century :  nobles  and  kings 
enriched  themselves  with  the  spoils  of  primitive  freedom;  it 
sunk  beneath  their  attacks  indeed,  but  it  reigned  before  them. 

And  above  all  these  monarchical,  aristocratical  and  popular 
pretensions  rises  the  theocratical  pretension  of  the  church,  who 
affirms  that  in  virtue  of  her  very  mission,  of  her  divine  title, 
society  belonged  to  her ;  that  she  alone  had  the  right  to  govern 
it;  that  she  alone  was  the  legitimate  queen  of  the  European 
world.,  won  over  by  her  labors  to  civilization  and  to  truth. 

See  then  the  position  in  which  we  are  placed !  We  fancied 
we  had  shown  that  no  one  of  the  elements  of  European  civiliza- 
tion had  exclusively  ruled  in  the  course  of  its  history;  that 
those  elements  had  existed  in  a  constant  state  of  vicinity,  of 
amalgamation,  of  combat,  and  of  compromise;  and  yet,  at 
our  very  first  step,  we  meet  with  the  directly  contrary  opinion, 
that,  even  in  its  cradle,  in  the  bosom  of  barbaric  Europe,  it 
was  such  or  such  a  one  of  their  elements  which  alone  possessed 
society.  And  it  is  not  only  in  a  single  country,  but  in  all  the 
countries  of  Europe,  that,  beneath  slightly  different  forms,  at 
different  periods,  the  various  principles  of  our  civilization  have 
manifested  these  irreconcilable  pretensions.  The  historical 
schools  we  have  just  characterized  are  to  be  met  with  every- 
where. 

This  is  an  important  fact — important  not  in  itself,  but  be- 
cause it  reveals  other  facts  which  hold  a  conspicuous  place  in 
our  history.  From  this  simultaneous  setting  forth  of  the  most 
opposite  pretensions  to  the  exclusive  possession  of  power  in 
the  first  age  of  modern  Europe  two  remarkable  facts  become 
apparent.  The  first,  the  principle,  the  idea  of  political  legiti- 
macy; an  idea  which  has  played  a  great  part  in  the  course  of 
European  civilization.  The  second,  the  veritable  and  peculiar 
character  of  the  condition  of  barbaric  Europe,  of  that  epoch 
with  which  we  are  at  present  especially  concerned. 

I  shall  endeavor  to  demonstrate  these  two  facts,  to  deduce 
them  successively  from  this  combat  of  primitive  pretensions 
which  I  have  just  described. 

What  do  the  various  elements  of  European  civilization,  the 
theocratical,  monarchical,  aristocratical  and  popular  elements 
pretend  to,  when  they  wish  to  appear  the  first  who  possessed 
society  in  Europe?  Do  they  not  thus  pretend  to  have  been 
alone  legitimate?  Political  legitimacy  is  evidently  a  right 
founded  upon  antiquity,  upon  duration ;  priority  in  time  is  ap- 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE 


39 


pealed  to  as  the  source  of  the  right,  as  the  proof  of  the  legiti- 
macy of  power.  And  observe,  I  pray  you,  that  this  pretension 
is  not  peculiar  to  any  one  system,  to  any  one  element  of  our 
civilization ;  it  extends  to  all.  In  modern  times  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  consider  the  idea  of  legitimacy  as  existing  in  only 
one  system,  the  monarchical.  In  this  we  are  mistaken;  it  is 
discoverable  in  all.  You  have  already  seen  that  all  the  elements 
of  our  civilization  have  equally  desired  to  appropriate  it.  If 
we  enter  into  the  subsequent  history  of  Europe,  we  shall  find 
the  most  different  social  forms  and  governments  equally  in 
possession  of  their  character  and  legitimacy.  The  Italian  and 
Swiss  aristocracies  and  democracies,  the  republic  of  San 
Marino,  as  well  as  the  greatest  monarchies  of  Europe,  have 
called  themselves,  and  have  been  regarded  as  legitimate;  the 
former,  like  the  latter,  have  founded  their  pretensions  to 
legitimacy  upon  the  antiquity  of  their  institutions  and  upon 
the  historical  priority  and  perpetuity  of  their  system  of  gov- 
ernment. 

If  you  leave  Europe  and  direct  your  attention  to  other  times 
and  other  countries,  you  everywhere  meet  with  this  idea  of 
political  legitimacy ;  you  find  it  attaching  itself  everywhere  to 
some  portion  of  the  government,  to  some  institution,  form,  or 
maxim.  There  has  been  no  country  and  no  time,  in  which  there 
has  not  existed  a  certain  portion  of  the  social  system,  public 
powers;  which  has  not  attributed  to  itself,  and  in  which  has 
not  been  recognized  this  character  of  legitimacy,  derived  from 
antiquity  and  long  duration. 

What  is  this  principle?  what  are  its  elements?  how  has  it 
introduced  itself  into  European  civilization? 

At  the  origin  of  all  powers,  I  say  of  all  without  any  distinc- 
tion, we  meet  with  physical  force.  I  do  not  mean  to  state 
that  force  alone  has  founded  them  all,  or  that  if,  in  their 
origin,  they  had  not  had  other  titles  than  that  of  force,  they 
would  have  been  established.  Other  titles  are  manifestly  neces- 
sary ;  powers  have  become  established  in  consequence  of  certain 
social  expediences,  of  certain  references  to  the  state  of  society, 
manners,  and  opinions.  But  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  perceiving 
that  physical  force  has  stained  the  origin  of  all  the  powers  of 
the  world,  whatever  may  have  been  their  character  and  form. 

Yet  none  will  have  anything  to  say  to  this  origin ;  all  powers, 
whatever  they  may  be,  reject  it;  none  will  admit  themselves 
the  offspring  of  force.  An  unconquerable  instinct  warns  gov- 
ernments that  force  does  not  found  right,  and  that  if  force 
was  their  origin,  their  right  could  never  be  established.  This, 
then,  is  the  reason  why,  when  we  go  back  to  early  times,  and 
there  find  the  various  systems  and  powers  a  prey  to  violence, 
all  exclaim,  "  I  was  anterior  to  all  this,  I  existed  previously, 


40  GUIZOt 

in  virtue  of  other  titles;  society  belonged  to  me  before  this 
state  of  violence  and  struggle  in  which  you  meet  with  me ;  I  was 
legitimate,  but  others  contested  and  seized  my  rights." 

This  fact  alone  proves  that  the  idea  of  force  is  not  the 
foundation  of  political  legitimacy,  but  that  it  reposes  upon  a 
totally  different  basis.  What,  indeed,  is  done  by  all  these 
systems  in  thus  formally  disavowing  force?  They  themselves 
proclaim  that  there  is  another  kind  of  legitimacy,  the  true 
foundation  of  all  others,  the  legitimacy  of  reason,  justice,  and 
right;  and  this  is  the  origin  with  which  they  desire  to  con- 
nect themselves.  It  is  because  they  wish  it  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  they  are  the  offspring  of  force,  that  they  pretend 
to  be  invested  in  the  name  of  their  antiquity  with  a  different 
title.  The  first  characteristic  then,  of  political  legitimacy,  is 
to  reject  physical  force  as  a  source  of  power,  and  to  connect 
it  with  a  moral  idea,  with  a  moral  force,  with  the  idea  of  right, 
of  justice,  and  of  reason.  This  is  the  fundamental  element  from 
which  the  principle  of  political  legitimacy  has  issued.  It  has 
issued  thence  by  the  help  of  antiquity  and  long  duration.  And 
in  this  manner : 

After  physical  force  has  presided  at  the  birth  of  all  govern- 
ments, of  all  societies,  time  progresses;  it  alters  the  works 
of  force,  it  corrects  them,  corrects  them  by  the  very  fact  that 
a  society  endures,  and  is  composed  of  men.  Man  carries 
within  himself  certain  notions  of  order,  justice  and  reason,  a 
certain  desire  to  induce  their  prevalence,  to  introduce  them 
into  the  circumstances  among  which  he  lives;  he  labors  un- 
ceasingly at  this  task ;  and  if  the  social  condition  in  which  he 
is  placed  continues,  he  labors  always  with  a  certain  effect. 
Man  places  reason,  morality  and  legitimacy  in  the  world  in 
which  he  lives. 

Independently  of  the  work  of  man,  by  a  law  of  Providence 
which  it  is  impossible  to  mistake,  a  law  analogous  to  that  which 
regulates  the  material  world,  there  is  a  certain  measure  of 
order,  reason  and  justice,  which  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
duration  of  a  society.  From  the  single  fact  of  its  duration, 
we  may  conclude  that  a  society  is  not  wholly  absurd,  insensate 
and  iniquitous ;  that  it  is  not  utterly  deprived  of  that  element 
of  reason,  truth  and  justice  which  alone  gives  life  to  societies. 
If,  moreover,  the  society  develops  itself,  if  it  becomes  more 
vigorous  and  more  powerful,  if  the  social  condition  from  day 
to  day  is  accepted  by  a  greater  number  of  men,  it  is  because 
it  gathers  by  the  action  of  time  more  reason,  justice  and  right; 
because  circumstances  regulate  themselves,  step  by  step,  accord- 
ing to  true  legitimacy. 

Thus  the  idea  of  political  legitimacy  penetrates  the  world, 
and  men's  minds,  from  the  world.     It  has  for  its  foundation 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  41 

and  first  origin,  in  a  certain  measure  at  least,  moral  legitimacy, 
justice,  reason,  and  truth,  and  afterward  the  sanction  of  time, 
which  gives  cause  for  believing  that  reason  has  won  entrance 
into  facts,  and  that  true  legitimacy  has  been  introduced  into 
the  external  world.  At  the  epoch  which  we  are  about  to  study, 
we  shall  find  force  and  falsehood  hovering  over  the  cradle  of 
royalty,  of  aristocracy,  of  democracy,  and  of  the  church  her- 
self ;  you  will  everywhere  behold  force  and  falsehood  reform- 
ing themselves,  little  by  little,  under  the  hand  of  time,  right 
and  truth  taking  their  places  in  civilization.  It  is  this  intro- 
duction of  right  and  truth  into  the  social  state,  which  has 
developed,  step  by  step,  the  idea  of  political  legitimacy;  it  is 
thus  that  it  has  been  established  in  modern  civilization. 

When,  therefore,  attempts  have  at  different  times  been 
made  to  raise  this  idea  as  the  banner  of  absolute  power,  it  has 
been  perverted  from  its  true  origin.  So  far  is  it  from  being 
the  banner  of  absolute  power,  that  it  is  only  in  the  name  of 
right  and  justice  that  it  has  penetrated  and  taken  root  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  exclusive ;  it  belongs  to  no  one  in  particular, 
but  springs  up  wherever  right  develops  itself.  Political  legiti- 
macy attaches  itself  to  liberty  as  well  as  to  power ;  to  individual 
rights  as  well  as  to  the  forms  according  to  which  public  func- 
tions are  exercised.  We  shall  meet  with  it,  in  our  way,  in 
the  most  contrary  systems ;  in  the  feudal  system,  in  the  munici- 
palities of  Flanders  and  Germany,  in  the  Italian  republics, 
no  less  than  in  the  monarchy.  It  is  a  character  spread  over 
the  various  elements  of  modern  civilization,  and  which  it  is 
necessary  to  understand  thoroughly  on  entering  upon  its  his- 
tory. 

The  second  fact  which  clearly  reveals  itself  in  the  simul- 
taneous pretensions  of  which  I  spoke  in  the  beginning,  is 
the  true  character  of  the  so-called  barbarian  epoch.  All  the 
elements  of  European  civilization  pretend  at  this  time  to  have 
possessed  Europe ;  it  follows  that  neither  of  them  predomi- 
nated. When  a  social  form  predominates  in  the  world,  it  is 
not  so  difficult  to  recognize  it.  On  coming  to  the  tenth  cent- 
ury we  shall  recognize,  without  hesitation,  the  predominance 
of  the  feudal  system ;  in  the  seventeenth  century  we  shall  not 
hesitate  to  affirm  that  the  monarchical  system  prevails ;  if  we 
look  to  the  municipalities  of  Flanders,  to  the  Italian  republics, 
we  shall  immediately  declare  the  empire  of  the  democratic 
principle.  When  there  is  really  any  predominating  principle 
in  society,  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  it. 

The  dispute  which  has  arisen  between  the  various  systems 
that  have  had  a  share  in  European  civilization,  upon  the  ques- 
tion, which  predominated  at  its  origin,  proves,  then,  that  they 
all  co-existed,  without  any  one  of  them  prevailing  generally 


42  GUIZOT 

enough,  or  certainly  enough  to  give  to  society  its  form  and  its 
name. 

Such,  then,  is  the  character  of  the  barbarian  epoch ;  it  was 
the  chaos  of  all  elements,  the  infancy  of  all  systems,  an  uni- 
versal turmoil,  in  which  even  strife  was  not  permanent  or  sys- 
tematic. By  examining  all  the  aspects  of  the  social  state  at 
this  period,  I  might  show  you  that  it  is  impossible  anywhere 
to  discover  a  single  fact,  or  a  single  principle,  which  was  any- 
thing like  general  or  established.  I  shall  confine  myself  to  two 
essential  points:  the  condition  of  individuals,  and  the  con- 
dition of  institutions.  That  will  be  enough  to  paint  the  entire 
society. 

At  this  period  we  meet  with  four  classes  of  persons. — i.  The 
free  men ;  that  is  to  say,  those  who  depended  upon  no  superior, 
upon  no  patron,  and  who  possessed  their  property  and  rege- 
lated their  life  in  complete  liberty,  without  any  bond  of  obliga- 
tion to  any  other  man.  2.  The  leudes,  Udeles,  anstrustions, 
etc.,  bound  at  first  by  the  relation  of  companion  to  chief,  and 
afterward  by  that  of  vassal  to  suzerain,  to  another  man,  to- 
ward whom,  on  account  of  a  grant  of  lands,  or  other  gifts, 
they  had  contracted  the  obligation  of  service.  3.  The  freedman. 
4.  The  slaves. 

But  were  these  various  classes  fixed?  Did  men,  when  once 
they  were  inclosed  in  their  limits,  remain  there?  Had  the 
relations  of  the  various  classes  anything  of  regularity  and 
permanence?  By  no  means.  You  constantly  behold  freemen 
who  leave  their  position  to  place  themselves  in  the  service  of 
some  one,  receiving  from  him  some  gift  or  other,  and  passing 
into  the  class  of  Iciides;  others  you  see  who  fall  into  the  class 
of  slaves.  Elsewhere  leudes  are  seen  struggling  to  separate 
themselves  from  their  patrons,  to  again  become  independent, 
to  re-enter  the  class  of  freemen.  Everywhere  you  behold  a 
movement,  a  continual  passage  of  one  class  into  another;  an 
uncertainty,  a  general  instability  in  the  relations  of  the  classes ; 
no  man  remaining  in  his  position,  no  position  remaining  the 
same. 

Landed  properties  were  in  the  same  condition.  You  know 
that  these  were  distinguished  as  allodial,  or  wholly  free,  and 
beneficiary,  or  subject  to  certain  obligations  with  regard  to  a 
superior:  you  know  how  an  attempt  has  been  made  to  estab- 
lish, in  this  last  class  of  properties,  a  precise  and  defined  sys- 
tem ;  it  has  been  said  that  the  benefices  were  at  first  given 
for  a  certain  determinate  number  of  years,  afterward  for  life, 
and  that  finally  they  became  hereditary.  A  vain  attempt !  All 
these  kinds  of  tenure  existed  without  order  and  simultaneously ; 
we  meet,  at  the  same  moment,  with  benefices  for  a  fixed  time, 
for  life,  and  heredity;    the  same  lands,  indeed,  passed  in  a 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  43 

few  years  through  these  different  states.  There  was  nothing 
more  stable  in  the  condition  of  lands  than  in  that  of  individuals. 
On  all  sides  was  felt  the  laborious  transition  of  the  wandering 
to  the  sedentary  life,  of  personal  relations  to  the  combined 
relations  of  men  and  properties,  or  to  real  relations.  During 
this  transition  all  is  confused,  local  and  disordered. 

In  the  institutions  we  find  the  same  instability,  the  same 
chaos.  Three  systems  of  institutions  co-existed:  royalty; 
aristocratic  institutions,  or  the  dependence  of  men  and  lands 
one  upon  another;  and  free  institutions,  that  is  to  say,  the 
assemblies  of  free  men  deliberating  in  common.  Neither  of 
these  systems  was  in  possession  of  society;  neither  of  them 
prevailed  over  the  others.  Free  institutions  existed,  but  the 
men  who  should  have  taken  part  in  the  assemblies  rarely  at- 
tended them.  The  signorial  jurisdiction  was  not  more  regu- 
larly exercised.  Royalty,  which  is  the  simplest  of  institutions 
and  the  easiest  to  determine,  had  no  fixed  character;  it  was 
partly  elective,  partly  hereditary.  Sometimes  the  son  succeeded 
the  father;  sometimes  a  selection  was  made  from  the  family; 
sometime?  it  was  a  simple  election  of  a  distant  relation,  or 
of  a  stranger.  In  no  system  will  you  find  anything  fixed ;  all 
institutions,  as  well  as  all  social  situations,  existed  together, 
became  confounded,  and  were  continually  changing. 

In  states  the  same  fluctuation  prevailed:  they  were  erected 
and  suppressed,  united  and  divided ;  there  were  no  boundaries, 
no  governments,  no  distant  people;  but  a  general  confusion 
of  situations,  principles,  facts,  races  and  languages ;  such  was 
barbarous  Europe. 

Within  what  limits  is  this  strange  period  bounded?  Its 
origin  is  well  marked,  it  begins  with  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  But  when  did  it  conclude?  In  order  to  answer  this 
question,  we  must  learn  to  what  this  condition  of  society  is 
to  be  attributed,  what  were  the  causes  of  this  barbarism. 

I  think  I  can  perceive  two  principal  causes ;  the  one  material, 
arising  from  without,  in  the  course  of  events ;  the  other  moral, 
originating  from  within,  from  man  himself. 

The  material  cause  was  the  continuation  of  the  invasion. 
We  must  not  fancy  that  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians  ceased 
in  the  fifth  century;  we  must  not  think  that,  because  Rome 
was  fallen,  we  shall  immediately  find  the  barbaric  king- 
doms founded  upon  its  ruins,  or  that  the  movement  was  at 
an  end.  This  movement  lasted  long  after  the  fall  of  the  empire ; 
the  proofs  of  this  are  manifest. 

See  the  Frank  kings,  even  of  the  first  race,  called  continually 
to  make  war  beyond  the  Rhine ;  Clotaire,  Dagobert  constantly 
engaged  in  expeditions-  into  Germany,  fighting  against  the 
Thuringians,  Danes  and  Saxons,  who  occupied  the  right  bank 


44  GUIZOT 

of  the  Rhine.  Wherefore?  Because  these  nations  wished  to 
cross  the  river,  to  come  and  take  their  share  of  the  spoils  of 
the  empire.  When,  about  the  same  time,  those  great  invasions 
of  Italy  by  the  Franks  established  in  Gaul,  and  principally  by 
the  Eastern  or  Austrasian  Franks  ?  They  attacked  Switzerland ; 
passed  the  Alps;  entered  Italy.  Why?  Because  they  were 
pressed,  on  the  northeast,  by  new  populations ;  their  expeditions 
were  not  merely  forays  for  pillage,  they  were  matters  of  neces- 
sity; they  were  disturbed  in  their  settlements,  and  went  else- 
where to  seek  their  fortune.  A  new  Germanic  nation  appeared 
upon  the  stage,  and  founded  in  Italy  the  kingdom  of  Lombardy. 
In  Gaul,  the  Frank  dynasty  changed;  the  Carlovingians  suc- 
ceeded the  Merovingians.  It  was  now  acknowledged  that  this 
change  of  dynasty  was,  to  say  the  truth,  a  fresh  invasion  of 
Gaul  by  the  Franks,  a  movement  of  nations  which  substituted 
the  eastern  for  the  western  Franks.  The  change  was  com- 
pleted; the  second  race  now  governed.  Charlemagne  com- 
menced against  the  Saxons  what  the  Merovingians  had  done 
against  the  Thuringians;  he  was  incessantly  engaged  in  war 
against  the  nations  beyond  the  Rhine.  Who  urged  these  on  ? 
The  Obotrites,  the  Wiltzes,  the  Sorabes,  the  Bohemians,  the 
entire  Sclavonic  race  which  pressed  upon  the  Germanic,  and 
from  the  sixth  to  the  ninth  century  compelled  it  to  advance 
toward  the  west.  Everywhere  to  the  northeast  the  movement 
of  invasion  continued  and  determined  events. 

In  the  south  a  movement  of  the  same  nature  exhibited  itself: 
the  Moslem  Arabs  appeared.  While  the  Germanic  and  Scla- 
vonic people  pressed  on  along  the  Rhine  and  Danube,  the 
Arabs  begun  their  expeditions  and  conquests  upon  all  the 
coasts  of  the  Mediterranean. 

The  invasion  of  the  Arabs  had  a  peculiar  character.  The 
spirit  of  conquest  and  the  spirit  of  proselytism  were  united. 
The  invasion  was  to  conquer  a  territory  and  disseminate  a 
faith.  There  was  a  great  difference  between  this  movement 
and  that  of  the  Germans.  In  the  Christian  world,  the  spiritual 
and  temporal  powers  were  distinct.  The  desire  of  propagating 
a  creed  and  making  a  conquest  did  not  co-exist  in  the  same 
men. 

The  Germans,  when  they  became  converted,  preserved 
their  manners,  sentiments  and  tastes;  terrestrial  passions  and 
interests  continued  to  rule  them ;  they  became  Christians,  but 
not  missionaries.  The  Arabs,  on  the  contrary,  were  both  con- 
(juerors  and  missionaries ;  the  power  of  the  sword  and  that 
of  the  word,  with  them,  were  in  the  same  hands.  At  a  later 
period,  this  character  determined  the  unfortunate  turn  taken 
by  Mussulman  civilization;  it  is  in  the  combination  of  the 
spiritual  and  temporal  powers,  in  the  confusion  of  moral  and 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  45 

material  authority,  that  the  tyranny  which  seems  adherent  in 
that  civilization  originated.  This  I  conceive  to  be  the  cause 
of  the  stationary  condition  into  which  that  civilization  is  every- 
where fallen.  But  the  fact  did  not  make  its  appearance  at 
first;  on  the  contrary,  it  added  prodigious  force  to  the  Arab 
invasion.  Undertaken  with  moral  passions  and  ideas,  it  im- 
mediately obtained  a  splendor  and  a  greatness  which  was  want- 
ing to  the  German  invasion ;  it  exhibited  far  more  energy  and 
enthusiasm,  and  far  differently  influenced  the  minds  of  men. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Europe  from  the  fifth  to  the  ninth 
century;  pressed  on  the  south  by  the  Mahometans,  on  the 
north  by  the  Germans  and  the  Sclavonic  tribes,  it  was  scarcely 
possible  that  the  reaction  of  this  double  invasion  should  do 
other  than  hold  the  interior  of  Europe  in  continual  disorder. 
The  populations  were  constantly  being  displaced,  and  forced 
one  upon  the  other;  nothing  of  a  fixed  character  could  be 
established ;  the  wandering  life  recommenced  on  all  sides. 
There  was,  no  doubt,  some  difference  in  this  respect  in  the 
different  states :  the  chaos  was  greater  in  Germany  than  in  the 
rest  of  Europe,  Germany  being  the  focus  of  the  movement; 
France  was  more  agitated  than  Italy.  But  in  no  place  could 
society  settle  or  regulate  itself;  barbarism  continued  on  all 
sides  from  the  same  cause  that  had  originated  it. 

So  much  for  the  material  cause,  that  which  arose  from  the 
course  of  events.  I  now  come  to  the  moral  cause,  which 
sprang  from  the  internal  condition  of  man,  and  which  was 
no  less  powerful. 

After  all,  whatever  external  events  may  be,  it  is  man  him- 
self who  makes  the  world;  it  is  in  proportion  to  the  ideas, 
sentiments  and  dispositions,  moral  and  intellectual,  of  man, 
that  the  world  becomes  regulated  and  progressive;  it  is  upon 
the  internal  condition  of  man  that  the  visible  condition  of 
society  depends. 

What  is  required  to  enable  men  to  found  a  society  with 
any  thing  of  durability  and  regularity?  It  is  evidently  neces- 
sary that  they  should  have  a  certain  number  of  ideas  sufficiently 
extended  to  suit  that  society,  to  apply  to  its  wants,  to  its  rela- 
tions. It  is  necessary,  moreover,  that  these  ideas  should  be 
common  to  the  greater  number  of  the  members  of  the  society ; 
finally,  that  they  should  exercise  a  certain  empire  over  their 
wills  and  actions. 

It  is  clear,  that  if  men  have  no  ideas  extending  beyond 
their  own  existence,  if  their  intellectual  horizon  is  confined 
to  themselves,  if  they  are  abandoned  to  the  tempest  of  their 
passions  and  their  wills,  if  they  have  not  among  them  a  cer- 
tain number  of  notions  and  sentiments  in  common  around 
which  to  rally,  it  is  clear,  I  say,  that  between  them  no  society 


^ 


46  GUIZOT 

IS  possible,  and  that  each  individual  must  be  a  principle  of 
disturbance  and  dissolution  to  any  association  which  he  may 
enter. 

Wherever  individuality  predominates  almost  exclusively, 
wherever  man  considers  no  one  but  himself,  and  his  ideas  do 
not  extend  beyond  himself,  and  he  obeys  nothing  but  his  own 
passions,  society  (I  mean  a  society  somewhat  extended  and 
permanent)  becames  for  him  almost  impossible.  Such,  how- 
ever, was  the  moral  condition  of  the  conquerors  of  Europe, 
at  the  time  upon  which  we  are  now  occupied. 

I  remarked  in  my  last  lecture  that  we  are  indebted  to  the  Ger- 
mans for  an  energetic  sentiment  of  individual  liberty,  of  human 
individuality.  But  in  a  state  of  extreme  barbarism  and  igno- 
rance this  sentiment  becomes  selfishness  in  all  its  brutality,  and 
in  all  its  insociability.  From  the  fifth  to  the  eigth  century  it  was 
at  this  point  among  the  Germans.  They  cared  only  for  their 
own  interests,  their  own  passions,  their  own  will :  how  could 
they  be  reconciled  to  a  condition  even  approximating  to  the 
social  ?  Attempts  were  made  to  prevail  upon  them  to  enter  it ; 
they  attempted  to  do  so  themselves.  But  they  immediately 
abandoned  it  by  some  act  of  carelessness,  some  burst  of  passion, 
some  want  of  intelligence.  Constantly  did  society  attempt  to 
form  itself;  constantly  was  it  destroyed  by  the  act  of  man, 
by  the  absence  of  the  moral  conditions  under  which  alone  it 
can  exist. 

Such  were  the  two  determining  causes  of  the  barbarous 
state.  So  long  as  these  were  prolonged,  barbarism  endured. 
Let  us  see  how  and  when  they  at  last  terminiited. 

Europe  labored  to  escape  from  this  condition.  It  is  in  the 
nature  of  man,  even  when  he  has  been  plunged  into  such  a 
condition  by  his  own  fault,  not  to  desire  to  remain  in  it.  How- 
ever rude,  however  ignorant,  however  devoted  to  his  own  in- 
terests and  to  his  own  passions  he  may  be,  there  is  within 
him  a  voice  and  an  instinct  which  tells  him  that  he  was  made 
for  better  things,  that  he  has  other  powers,  another  destiny. 
In  the  midst  of  disorder,  the  love  of  order  and  of  progress 
pursues  and  harasses  him.  The  need  of  justice,  foresight,  de- 
velopment, agitates  him  even  under  the  yoke  of  the  most  brutal 
selfishness.  He  feels  himself  impelled  to  reform  the  material 
world,  and  society,  and  himself;  and  he  labors  to  do  this, 
though  unaware  of  the  nature  of  the  want  which  urges  him. 
The  barbarians  aspired  after  civilization,  while  totally  in- 
capable of  it,  nay  more,  detesting  it  from  the  instant  that  they 
became  acquainted  with  its  law. 

There  remained,  moreover,  considerable  wrecks  of  the  Roman 
civiHzation.  The  name  of  the  Empire,  the  recollection  of  that 
great  and  glorious  society,  disturbed  the  memories  of  men, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  47 

particularly  of  the  senators  of  towns,  of  bishops,  priests,  and 
all  those  who  had  their  origin  in  the  Roman  world. 

Among  the  barbarians  themselves,  or  their  barbaric  ances- 
tors, many  had  been  witnesses  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Empire ; 
they  had  served  in  its  armies,  they  had  conquered  it.  The 
image  and  name  of  Roman  civilization  had  an  imposing  in- 
fluence upon  them,  and  they  experienced  the  desire  of  imitat- 
ing, of  reproducing,  of  preserving  something  of  it.  This  was 
another  cause  which  urged  them  to  quit  the  condition  of  bar- 
barism I  have  described. 

There  was  a  third  cause  which  suggests  itself  to  every  mind ; 
I  mean  the  Christian  church.  The  church  was  a  society  regu- 
larly constituted,  having  its  principles,  its  rules,  and  its  dis- 
cipline, and  experiencing  an  ardent  desire  to  extend  its  in- 
fluence and  conquer  its  conquerors.  Among  the  Christians  of 
this  period,  among  the  Christian  clergy  there  were  men  who 
had  thought  upon  all  moral  and  political  questions,  who  had 
decided  opinions  and  energetic  sentiments  upon  all  subjects, 
and  a  vivid  desire  to  propagate  and  give  them  empire.  Never 
has  any  other  society  made  such  efforts  to  influence  the  sur- 
rounding world,  and  to  stamp  thereon  its  own  likeness,  as 
were  made  by  the  Christian  church  between  the  fifth  and  the 
tenth  centuries.  When  we  come  to  study  its  particular  his- 
tory, we  shall  see  all  that  it  has  done.  It  attacked  barbarism, 
as  it  were,  at  every  point,  in  order  to  civilize  by  ruling  over  it. 

Finally,  there  was  a  fourth  cause  of  civilization,  a  cause 
which  it  is  impossible  fitly  to  appreciate,  but  which  is  not 
therefore  the  less  real,  and  this  is  the  appearance  of  great 
men.  No  one  can  say  why  a  great  man  appears  at  a  certain 
epoch,  and  what  he  adds  to  the  development  of  the  world ; 
that  is  a  secret  of  Providence:  but  the  fact  is  not  therefore 
less  certain.  There  are  men  whom  the  spectacle  of  anarchy 
and  social  stagnation,  strikes  and  revolts,  who  are  intellectually 
shocked  therewith  as  with  a  fact  which  ought  not  to  exist, 
and  are  possessed  with  an  unconquerable  desire  of  changing 
it,  a  desire  of  giving  some  rule,  somewhat  of  the  general, 
regular  and  permanent  to  the  world  before  them.  A  terrible 
and  often  tyrannical  power,  which  commits  a  thousand  crimes, 
a  thousand  errors,  for  human  weakness  attends  it;  a  power, 
nevertheless,  glorious  and  salutary,  for  it  gives  to  humanity, 
and  with  the  hand  of  man,  a  vigorous  impulse  forward,  a 
mighty  movement. 

These  different  causes  and  forces  led,  between  the  fifth  and 
ninth  century,  to  various  attempts  at  extricating  European  so- 
ciety from  barbarism. 

The  first  attempt,  which,  although  but  slightly  effective, 
must  not  be  overlooked,  since  it  emanated  from  the  barbarians 


48  GUIZOT 

themselves,  was  the  drawing  up  of  the  barbaric  laws :  between 
the  sixth  and  eighth  centuries  the  laws  of  almost  all  the  bar- 
barous people  were  written.  Before  this  they  had  not  been 
written;  the  barbarians  had  been  governed  simply  by  cus- 
toms, until  they  established  themselves  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
Roman  empire.  We  may  reckon  the  laws  of  the  Burgundians, 
of  the  Salian  and  Ripuarian  Franks,  of  the  Visigoths,  of  the 
Lombards,  the  Saxons,  the  Prisons,  the  Bavarians,  the  Alemanni, 
etc.  Here  was  manifestly  a  beginning  of  civilization ;  an  en- 
deavor to  bring  society  under  general  and  regular  principles. 
The  success  of  this  attempt  could  not  be  great ;  it  was  writing 
the  laws  of  a  society  which  no  longer  existed,  the  laws  of  the 
social  state  of  the  barbarians  before  their  establishment  upon 
the  Roman  territory,  before  they  had  exchanged  the  wander- 
ing for  the  sedentary  life,  the  condition  of  nomad  warriors  for 
that  of  proprietors.  We  find,  indeed,  here  and  there,  some 
articles  concerning  the  lands  which  the  barbarians  had  con- 
quered, and  concerning  their  relations  with  the  ancient  in- 
habitants of  the  country;  but  the  foundation  of  the  greater 
part  of  their  laws  is  the  ancient  mode  of  life,  the  ancient  Ger- 
man condition ;  they  were  inapplicable  to  the  new  society,  and 
occupied  only  a  trifling  place  in  its  development. 

At  the  same  time,  another  kind  of  an  attempt  was  made  in 
Italy  and  the  south  of  Gaul.  Roman  society  had  not  so  com- 
pletely perished  there  as  elsewhere ;  a  little  more  order  and  life 
remained  in  the  cities.  There  civilization  attempted  to  lift  again 
its  head.  If,  for  example,  we  look  to  the  kingdom  of  the 
Ostrogoths  in  Italy  under  Theodoric,  we  see  even  under  the 
dominion  of  a  barbarous  king  and  nation  the  municipal  sys- 
tem, taking  breath,  so  to  speak,  and  influencing  the  general 
course  of  events,  Roman  society  had  acted  upon  the  Goths, 
and  had  to  a  certain  degree  impressed  them  with  its  likeness. 
The  same  fact  is  visible  in  the  south  of  Gaul.  It  was  at  the 
commencement  of  the  sixth  century  that  a  Visigoth  king  of 
Toulouse,  Alaric,  caused  the  Roman  laws  to  be  collected,  and 
published  a  code  for  his  Roman  subjects  under  the  name  of 
the  Breviarium  Aniani. 

In  Spain  it  was  another  power — namely,  that  of  the  church, 
which  tried  to  revive  civilization.  In  place  of  the  ancient 
German  assemblies,  the  assemblies  of  warriors,  it  was  the 
council  of  Toledo  which  prevailed  in  Spain ;  and  although  dis- 
tinguished laymen  attended  this  council,  the  bishops  had  domin- 
ion there.  Look  at  the  law  of  the  Visigoths,  you  \vill  see  that 
it  is  not  a  barbarous  law ;  it  was  evidently  compiled  by  the 
philosophers  of  the  time,  the  clergy.  It  abounds  in  general 
ideas,  in  theories,  theories  wholly  foreign  to  barbarous  man- 
ners.   Thus,  you  know  that  the  legislation  of  the  barbarians 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  49 

was  a  personal  legislation — that  is  to  say,  that  the  same  law 
applied  only  to  men  of  the  same  race.  The  Roman  law  gov- 
erned the  Romans,  the  Frank  law  governed  the  Franks ;  each 
people  had  its  law,  although  they  were  united  under  the  same 
government  and  inhabited  the  same  territory.  This  is  what 
is  called  the  system  of  personal  legislation,  in  opposition  to  that 
of  real  legislation  fixed  upon  the  territory.  Well,  the  legisla- 
tion of  the  Visigoths  was  not  personal,  but  fixed  upon  the  terri- 
tory. All  the  inhabitants  of  Spain,  Visigoths  and  Romans, 
were  subject  to  the  same  law.  Continue  your  investigation,  and 
you  will  find  yet  more  evident  traces  of  philosophy.  Among 
the  barbarians,  men  had,  according  to  their  relative  situations, 
a  determinate  value;  the  barbarian,  the  Roman,  the  freeman, 
the  vassal,  etc.,  were  not  held  at  the  same  price,  there  was  a 
tariff  of  their  lives.  The  principle  of  the  equal  value  of  men 
in  the  eye  of  the  law  was  established  in  the  law  of  the  Visi- 
goths. Look  to  the  system  of  procedure,  and  you  find  in  place 
of  the  oath  of  compur  gat  ores,  or  the  judicial  combat,  the  proof 
by  witnesses,  and  a  rational  investigation  of  the  matter  in 
question,  such  as  might  be  prosecuted  in  a  civilized  society. 
In  short,  the  whole  Visigoth  law  bears  a  wise,  systematic  and 
social  character.  We  may  perceive  herein  the  work  of  the  same 
clergy  who  prevailed  in  the  councils  of  Toledo,  and  so  power- 
fully influenced  the  government  of  the  country. 

In  Spain,  then,  up  to  the  great  invasion  of  the  Arabs,  it  was 
the  theocratic  principle  which  attempted  the  revival  of  civili- 
zation. 

In  France  the  same  endeavor  was  the  work  of  a  different 
power ;  it  came  from  the  great  men,  above  all  from  Charlemagne. 
Examine  his  reign  under  its  various  aspects ;  you  will  see  that 
his  predominating  idea  was  the  design  of  civilizing  his  people. 
First,  let  us  consider  his  wars.  He  was  constantly  in  the  field, 
from  the  south  to  the  northeast,  from  the  Ebro  to  the  Elbe 
or  the  Weser.  Can  you  believe  that  these  were  mere  wilful 
expeditions,  arising  simply  from  the  desire  of  conquest?  By 
no  means.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  that  he  did  is  to  be 
fully  explained,  or  that  there  existed  much  diplomacy  or  strate- 
gic skill  in  his  plans;  but  he  obeyed  a  great  necessity — a 
strong  desire  of  suppressing  barbarism.  He  was  engaged  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  his  reign  in  arresting  the  double  invasion — 
the  Mussulman  invasion  on  the  south  and  the  German  and 
Sclavonic  invasion  on  the  north.  This  is  the  military  character 
of  the  reign  of  Charlemagne ;  his  expedition  against  the  Saxons 
had  no  other  origin  and  no  other  purpose. 

If  you  turn  from  his  wars  to  his  internal  government 
you  will  there  meet  with  a  fact  of  the  same  nature — the  at- 
tempt to  introduce  order  and  unity  into  the  administration  of 


50  GUIZOT 

all  the  countries  which  he  possessed.  I  do  not  wish  to  employ 
the  word  kingdom  nor  the  word  state;  for  these  expressions 
convey  too  regular  a  notion,  and  suggest  ideas  which  are  little 
in  harmony  with  the  society  over  which  Charlemagne  pre- 
sided. But  this  is  certain,  that  being  master  of  an  immense 
territory,  he  felt  indignant  at  seeing  all  things  incoherent,  an- 
archical and  rude,  and  desired  to  alter  their  hideous  condition. 
First  of  all  he  wrought  by  means  of  his  tnissi  dominici,  whom 
he  de^atched  into  the  various  parts  of  his  territory,  in  order 
that  tney  might  observe  circumstances  and  reform  them,  or 
give  an  account  of  them  to  him.  He  afterward  worked  by 
means  of  general  assemblies,  which  he  held  with  much  more 
regularity  than  his  predecessors  had  done.  At  these  assem- 
blies he  caused  all  the  most  considerable  persons  of  the  territory 
to  be  present.  They  were  not  free  assemblies,  nor  did  they  at 
all  resemble  the  kind  of  deliberations  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted; they  were  merely  a  means  taken  by  Charlemagne 
of  being  well  informed  of  facts,  and  of  introducing  some  order 
and  unity  among  his  disorderly  populations. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  the  reign  of 
Charlemagne,  you  will  always  find  in  it  the  same  character, 
namely,  warfare  against  the  barbarous  state,  the  spirit  of  civili- 
zation; this  is  what  appears  in  his  eagerness  to  establish 
schools,  in  his  taste  for  learned  men,  in  the  favor  with  which 
he  regarded  ecclesiastical  influence,  and  in  all  that  he  thought 
proper  to  do,  whether  as  regarded  the  entire  society  or  indi- 
vidual man. 

An  attempt  of  the  same  kind  was  made  somewhat  later  in 
England  by  King  Alfred. 

Thus  the  different  causes  to  which  I  have  directed  attention, 
as  tending  to  put  an  end  to  barbarism,  were  in  action  in  some 
part  or  other  of  Europe  from  the  fifth  to  the  ninth  century. 

None  succeeded.  Charlemagne  was  unable  to  found  his 
great  empire,  and  the  system  of  government  which  he  desired 
to  establish  therein.  In  Spain  the  church  succeeded  no  better 
in  establishing  the  theocratic  principle.  In  Italy  and  in  the 
south  of  Gaul,  although  Roman  civilization  often  attempted  to 
rise  again,  it  was  not  till  afterward,  toward  the  end  of  the 
tenth  century,  that  it  really  reacquired  any  vigor.  Up  to  that 
time  all  efforts  to  terminate  barbarism  proved  abortive;  they 
supposed  that  men  were  more  advanced  than  they  truly  were ; 
they  all  desired,  under  various  forms,  a  society  more  extended 
or  more  regular  than  was  compatible  with  the  distribution  of 
power  and  the  condition  of  men's  minds.  Nevertheless,  they 
had  not  been  wholly  useless.  At  the  beginning  of  the  tenth 
century,  neither  the  great  empire  of  Charlemagne  nor  the 
glorious  councils  of  Toledo  were  any  longer  spoken  of;  but 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  51 

barbarism  had  not  the  less  arrived  at  its  extreme  term — two 
great  results  had  been  obtained.  . 

I.  The  movement  of  the  invasions  on  the  north  and  south     f-—" 
had  been  arrested:    after  the  dismemberment  of  the  empire 

of  Charlemagne  the  states  established  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Rhine  opposed  a  powerful  barrier  to  the  tribes  who  continued 
to  urge  their  way  westward.  The  Normans  prove  this  incon- 
testably;  up  to  this  period,  if  we  except  the  tribes  which  cast 
themselves  upon  England,  the  movement  of  maritime  invasions 
had  not  been  very  considerable.  It  was  during  the  ninth  cen- 
tury that  it  became  constant  and  general.  And  this  was  be- 
cause invasions  by  land  were  become  very  difficult,  society 
having,  on  this  side,  acquired  more  fixed  and  certain  frontiers. 
That  portion  of  the  wandering  population  which  could  not  be 
driven  back  was  constrained  to  turn  aside  and  carry  on  its 
roving  life  upon  the  sea.  Whatever  evils  were  done  in  the 
west  by  Norman  expeditions,  they  were  far  less  fatal  than  in- 
vasions by  land;  they  disturbed  dawning  society  far  less 
generally. 

In  the  south  the  same  fact  declared  itself.  The  Arabs  were 
quartered  in  Spain;  warfare  continued  between  them  and  the 
Christians,  but  it  no  longer  entailed  the  displacement  of  the 
population.  Saracenic  bands  still,  from  time  to  time,  infested 
the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean;  but  the  grand  progress  of 
Islamism  had  evidently  ceased.  j 

II.  At  this  period  we  see  the  wandering  life  ceasing,  in  its 
turn,  throughout  the  interior  of  Europe ;  populations  estab- 
lished themselves;  property  became  fixed;  and  the  relations 
of  men  no  longer  varied  from  day  to  day,  at  the  will  of  vio- 
lence or  chance.  The  internal  and  moral  condition  of  man 
himself  began  to  change;  his  ideas  and  sentiments,  like  his 
life,  acquired  fixedness;  he  attached  himself  to  the  places 
which  he  inhabited,  to  the  relations  which  he  had  contracted 
there,  to  those  domains  which  he  began  to  promise  himself 
that  he  would  bequeath  to  his  children,  to  that  dwelling  which 
one  day  he  will  call  his  castle,  to  that  miserable  collection  of 
colonists  and  slaves  which  will  one  day  become  a  village. 
Everywhere  little  societies,  little  states,  cut,  so  to  speak,  to 
the  measure  of  the  ideas  and  the  wisdom  of  man,  formed  them- 
selves. Between  these  societies  was  gradually  introduced  the 
bond,  of  which  the  customs  of  barbarism  contained  the  germ, 
the  bond  of  a  confederation  which  did  not  annihilate  individual 
independence.  On  the  one  hand,  every  considerable  person 
established  himself  in  his  domains,  along  with  his  family  and 
servitors;  on  the  other  hand,  a  certain  hierarchy  of  services 
and  rights  became  established  between  these  warlike  proprie- 
tors scattered  over  the  land.     What  was  this?     The  feudal 


52  GUIZOT 

system  rising  definitively  from  the  bosom  of  barbarism.  Of 
the  various  elements  of  our  civilization,  it  was  natural  that  the 
Germanic  element  should  first  prevail;  it  had  strength  on  its 
side,  it  had  conquered  Europe ;  from  it  Europe  was  to  receive 
its  earliest  social  form  and  organization.  This  is  what  hap- 
pened. Feudalism,  its  character,  and  the  part  played  by  it  in 
the  history  of  European  civilization,  will  be  the  subject-matter 
of  my  next  lecture ;  and  in  the  bosom  of  that  victorious  feudal 
system  we  shall  meet  at  every  step,  with  the  other  elements  of 
our  civilization — royalty,  the  church,  municipal  corporations; 
and  we  shall  foresee  without  difficulty  that  they  are  not  destined 
to  sink  beneath  this  feudal  form,  to  which  they  become  assimi- 
lated, while  struggling  against  it,  and  while  waiting  the  hour 
when  victory  shall  visit  them  in  their  turn. 


FOURTH    LECTURE. 

WE  have  studied  the  condition  of  Europe  after  the  fall  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  in  the  first  period  of  modern 
history,  the  barbarous.  We  have  seen  that,  at  the 
end  of  this  epoch,  and  at  the  commencement  of  the  tenth  century, 
the  first  principle,  the  first  system  that  developed  itself  and  took 
possession  of  European  society,  was  the  feudal  system ;  we  have 
seen  that  feudalism  was  the  first-born  of  barbarism.  It  is  then 
the  feudal  system  which  must  now  be  the  object  of  our  study. 

I  scarcely  think  it  necessary  to  remind  you  that  it  is  not  the 
history  of  events,  properly  speaking,  which  we  are  considering. 
It  is  not  my  business  to  recount  to  you  the  destinies  of  feudalism. 
That  which  occupies  us  in  the  history  of  civilization;  this  is  the 
general  and  hidden  fact  which  we  seek  under  all  the  external 
facts  which  envelop  it. 

Thus  events,  social  crises,  the  various  states  through  which 
society  has  passed,  interest  us  only  in  their  relations  to  the 
development  of  civilization ;  we  inquire  of  them  solely  in  what 
respects  they  have  opposed  or  assisted  it,  what  they  have  given 
to  it,  and  what  they  have  refused  it.  It  is  only  under  this  point 
of  view  that  we  are  to  consider  the  feudal  system. 

In  the  commencement  of  these  lectures  we  defined  the  nature 
of  civilization;  we  attempted  to  investigate  its  elements;  we  saw 
that  it  consisted,  on  the  one  hand,  in  the  development  of  man 
himself,  of  the  individual,  of  humanity;  on  the  other  hand,  in  that 
of  his  external  condition,  in  the  development  of  society.  When- 
ever we  find  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  an  event,  of  a  system, 
or  of  a  general  condition  of  the  world,  we  have  this  double 
question  to  ask  of  it,  what  has  it  done  for  or  against  the  develop- 
ment of  man,  for  or  against  the  development  of  society? 

You  understand  beforehand  that,  during  our  investigations, 
it  is  impossible  that  we  should  not  meet  upon  our  way  most 
important  questions  of  moral  philosophy.  When  we  desire  to 
know  in  what  an  event  or  a  system  has  contributed  to  the 
development  of  man  and  of  society,  it  is  absolutely  needful  that 
we  should  be  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  true  develop- 
ment of  society  and  of  man;  that  we  should  know  what 
developments  are  false  and  illegitimate,  perverting  instead  of 
ameliorating,  causing  a  retrogressive  instead  of  a  progressive 
movement. 

53 


54  GUIZOT 

We  shall  not  seek  to  escape  from  this  necessity.  Not  only 
should  we  thereby  mutilate  and  lower  our  ideas  and  the  facts, 
but  the  actual  state  of  the  world  imposes  upon  us  the  necessity 
of  freely  accepting  this  inevitable  alliance  of  philosophy  and 
history.  This  is  precisely  one  of  the  characteristics,  perhaps  the 
essential  characteristic  of  our  epoch.  We  are  called  upon  to 
consider,  to  cause  to  progress  together,  science  and  reality, 
theory  and  practice,  right  and  fact.  Up  to  our  times,  these  two 
powers  have  existed  separately;  the  world  has  been  accustomed 
to  behold  science  and  practice  following  different  roads,  without 
recognizing  each  other,  or  at  least  without  meeting.  And  when 
doctrines  and  general  ideas  have  desired  to  amalgamate  with 
events  and  influence  the  world  they  have  only  succeeded  under 
the  form  and  by  means  of  the  arm  of  fanaticism.  The  empire 
of  human  societies,  and  the  direction  of  their  affairs,  have 
hitherto  been  shared  between  two  kinds  of  influences;  upon  one 
hand,  the  believers,  the  men  of  general  ideas  and  principles,  the 
fanatics;  on  the  other,  men  strangers  to  all  rational  principles, 
who  govern  themselves  merely  according  to  circumstances,  prac- 
ticians, free-thinkers,  as  the  seventeenth  century  called  them. 
This  condition  of  things  is  now  ceasing;  neither  fanatics  nor 
free-thinkers  will  any  longer  have  dominion.  In  order  now  to 
govern  and  prevail  with  men,  it  is  necessary  to  be  acquainted 
with  general  ideas  and  circumstances;  it  is  necessary  to  know 
how  to  value  principles  and  facts,  to  respect  virtue  and  necessity, 
to  preserve  one's  self  from  the  pride  of  fanatics,  and  the  not  less 
blind  scorn  of  free-thinkers.  To  this  point  have  we  been  con- 
ducted by  the  development  of  the  human  mind  and  the  social 
state;  upon  one  hand,  the  human  mind,  exalted  and  freed,  better 
comprehends  the  connection  of  things,  knows  how  to  look 
around  on  all  sides,  and  makes  use  of  all  things  in  its  combi- 
nations ;  on  the  other  hand,  society  has  perfected  itself  to  that 
degree  that  it  can  be  compared  with  the  truth ;  that  facts  can 
be  brought  into  juxtaposition  with  principles,  and  yet,  in  spite 
of  their  still  great  imperfections,  not  inspire  by  the  comparison 
invincible  discouragement  or  distaste.  I  shall  thus  obey  the 
natural  tendency,  convenience,  and  the  necessity  of  our  times, 
in  constantly  passing  from  the  examination  of  circumstances 
to  that  of  ideas,  from  an  exposition  of  facts  to  a  question  of 
doctrines.  Perhaps,  even,  there  is  in  the  actual  disposition  of 
men's  minds  another  reason  in  favor  of  this  method.  For 
some  time  past  a  confirmed  taste,  I  might  say  a  sort  of  predi- 
lection, has  manifested  itself  among  us,  for  facts,  for  practical 
views,  for  the  positive  aspect  of  human  affairs.  We  have  been 
to  such  an  extent  a  prey  to  the  despotism  of  general  ideas,  of 
theories ;  they  have,  in  some  respects,  cost  us  so  dear  that  they 
are  become  the  objects  of  a  certain  degree  of  distrust.     We 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  55 

like  better  to  carry  ourselves  back  to  facts,  to  special  circum- 
stances, to  applications.  This  is  not  to  be  regretted ;  it  is  a  new 
progress,  a  great  step  in  knowledge,  and  toward  the  empire  of 
truth ;  provided  always  that  we  do  not  allow  ourselves  to  be 
prejudiced  and  carried  away  by  this  disposition;  that  we  do 
not  torget  that  truth  alone  has  a  right  to  reign  in  the  world ; 
that  facts  have  no  value  except  as  they  tend  to  explain,  and 
to  assimilate  themselves  more  and  more  to  the  truth;  that  all 
true  greatness  is  of  thought ;  and  that  all  fruitfulness  belongs 
to  it.  The  civilization  of  our  country  has  this  peculiar  charac- 
ter, that  it  has  never  wanted  intellectual  greatness;  it  has 
always  been  rich  in  ideas ;  the  power  of  the  human  mind  has 
always  been  great  in  French  society;  greater,  perhaps,  than 
in  any  other.  We  must  not  lose  this  high  privilege ;  we  must 
not  fall  into  the  somewhat  subordinate  and  material  state  which 
characterizes  other  societies.  Intelligence  and  doctrines  must 
occupy  in  the  France  of  the  present  day  at  least  the  place  which 
they  have  occupied  there  hitherto. 

We  shall,  then,  by  no  means  avoid  general  and  philosophical 
questions;  we  shall  not  wander  in  search  of  them,  but  where 
facts  lead  us  to  them  we  shall  meet  them  without  hesitation 
or  embarrassment.  An  occasion  of  doing  so  will  more  than 
once  present  itself  during  the  consideration  of  the  feudal  sys- 
tem in  its  relations  to  the  history  of  European  civilization. 

A  good  proof  that  in  the  tenth  century  the  feudal  system 
was  necessary,  was  the  only  possible  social  state,  is  the  uni- 
versality of  its  establishment.  Wherever  barbarism  ceased, 
everything  took  the  feudal  form.  At  the  first  moment,  men 
sa\v  in  it  only  the  triumph  of  chaos;  all  unity,  all  general 
civilization  vanished;  on  all  sides  they  beheld  society  dis- 
membering itself;  and,  in  its  stead,  they  beheld  a  number  of 
minor,  obscure,  isolated,  and  incoherent  societies  erect  them- 
selves. To  contemporaries,  this  appeared  the  dissolution  of 
all  things,  universal  anarchy.  Consult  the  poets  and  the 
chroniclers  of  the  time ;  they  all  believed  themselves  at  the  end 
of  the  world.  It  was,  nevertheless,  the  beginning  of  a  new 
and  real  society,  the  feudal,  so  necessary,  so  inevitable,  so 
truly  the  only  possible  consequence  of  the  anterior  state,  that 
all  things  entered  into  it  and  assumed  its  form.  Elements, 
the  most  foreign  to  this  system,  the  church,  municipalities, 
royalty,  were  compelled  to  accommodate  themselves  to  it ;  the 
churches  became  suzerains  and  vassals,  cities  had  lords  and 
vassals,  royalty  disguised  itself  under  the  form  of  suzerainship. 
All  things  were  given  in  fief,  not  only  lands,  but  certain  rights, 
the  right,  for  instance,  of  felling  in  forests,  and  of  fishing, 
the  churches  gave  in  fief  their  perquisites,  from  their  revenues 
from  baptisms,  the  churchings  of  women.    Water  and  money 


56  GUIZOT 

were  given  in  fief.  Just  as  all  the  general  elements  of  society 
entered  into  the  feudal  frame,  so  the  smallest  details,  and  the 
most  trifling  facts  of  common  life,  became  a  part  of  feudalism. 

In  beholding  the  feudal  form  thus  taking  possession  of  all 
things,  we  are  tempted  to  believe,  at  first,  that  the  essential 
and  vital  principle  of  feudalism  everywhere  prevailed.  But 
this  is  a  mistake.  In  borrowing  the  feudal  form,  the  elements 
and  institutions  of  society  which  were  not  analogous  to  the 
feudal  system,  did  not  renounce  their  own  nature  or 
peculiar  principles.  The  feudal  church  did  not  cease  to  be 
animated  and  governed,  at  bottom,  by  the  theocratic  principle ; 
and  it  labored  unceasingly,  sometimes  in  concert  with  the  royal 
power,  sometimes  with  the  pope,  and  sometimes  with  the  peo- 
ple, to  destroy  this  system,  of  which,  so  to  speak,  it  wore  the 
livery.  It  was  the  same  with  royalty  and  with  the  corpora- 
tions ;  in  the  one  the  monarchical,  in  the  other  the  democratical 
principle,  continued,  at  bottom,  to  predominate.  Notwith- 
standing their  feudal  livery,  these  various  elements  of  Euro- 
pean society  constantly  labored  to  deliver  themselves  from  a 
form  which  was  foreign  to  their  true  nature,  and  to  assume 
that  which  corresponded  to  their  peculiar  and  vital  principle. 

Having  shown  the  universality  of  the  feudal  form,  it  be- 
comes very  necessary  to  be  on  our  guard  against  concluding 
from  this  the  universality  of  the  feudal  principle,  and  against 
studying  feudalism  indifferently,  whenever  we  meet  with  its 
physiognomy.  In  order  to  know  and  comprehend  this  system 
thoroughly,  to  unravel  and  judge  of  its  effects  in  reference  to 
modern  civilization,  we  must  examine  it  where  the  form  and 
principle  are  in  harmony;  we  must  study  it  in  the  hierarchy 
of  lay  possessors  of  fiefs,  in  the  association  of  the  conquerors 
of  the  European  territory.  There  truly  resided  feudal  society ; 
thereupon  we  are  now  to  enter. 

I  spoke  just  now  of  the  importance  of  moral  questions,  and 
of  the  necessity  of  not  avoiding  them.  But  there  is  a  totally 
opposite  kind  of  considerations,  which  has  generally  been  too 
much  neglected ;  I  mean  the  material  condition  of  society,  the 
material  changes  introduced  into  mankind's  method  of  exist- 
ing, by  a  new  fact,  by  a  revolution,  by  a  new  social  state.  We 
have  not  always  sufficiently  considered  these  things;  we  have 
not  always  sufficiently  inquired  into  the  modifications  intro- 
duced by  these  great  crises  of  the  world,  into  the  material  ex- 
istence of  men,  into  the  material  aspect  of  their  relations. 
These  modifications  have  more  influence  upon  the  entire  so- 
ciety than  is  supposed.  Who  does  not  know  how  much  the 
influence  of  climates  has  been  studied,  and  how  much  im- 
portance was  attached  to  it  by  Montesquieu.  If  we  regard  the 
immediate  influence  of  climate  upon  men,  perhaps  it  is  not  so 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  57 

extensive  as  has  been  supposed ;  it  is,  at  all  events,  very  vague 
and  difficult  to  be  appreciated.  But  the  indirect  influence  of 
climate,  that  which,  for  example,  results  from  the  fact  that, 
in  a  warm  country  men  live  in  the  open  air,  while  in  a  cold 
country  they  shut  themselves  up  in  their  houses;  that  in  one 
case  they  nourish  themselves  in  one  manner,  in  the  other  in 
another.  These  are  facts  of  great  importance,  facts  which, 
by  the  simply  difference  of  material  life,  act  powerfully  upon 
civilization.  All  great  revolutions  lead  to  modifications  of 
this  sort  in  the  social  state,  and  these  are  very  necessary  to  be 
considered. 

The  establishment  of  the  feudal  system  produced  one  of 
these  modifications,  of  unmistakable  importance ;  it  altered  the 
distribution  of  the  population  over  the  face  of  the  land. 
Hitherto  the  masters  of  the  soil,  the  sovereign  population, 
had  lived  united  in  more  or  less  numerous  masses  of  men, 
whether  sedentarily  in  cities,  or  wandering  in  bands  through 
the  country.  In  consequence  of  the  feudal  system,  these  same 
men  lived  isolated,  each  in  his  own  habitation  and  at  great  dis- 
tances from  one  another.  You  will  immediately  perceive  how 
much  influence  this  change  was  calculated  to  exercise  upon  the 
character  and  course  of  civilization.  The  social  preponderance, 
the  government  of  society,  passed  suddenly  from  the  towns  to 
the  country;  private  property  became  of  more  importance 
than  public  property,  private  life  than  public  life.  Such  was 
the  first  and  purely  material  effect  of  the  triumph  of  feudal 
society.  The  further  we  examine  into  it,  the  more  will  the 
consequence  of  this  single  fact  be  unfolded  to  our  eyes. 

Let  us  investigate  this  society  in  itself  and  see  what  part 
it  has  played  in  the  history  of  civilization.  First  of  all  let  us 
take  feudalism  in  its  most  simple,  primitive,  and  fundamental 
element;  let  us  consider  a  single  possessor  of  a  fief  in  his  do- 
main, and  let  us  see  what  will  become  of  all  those  who  form 
the  little  society  around  him. 

He  establishes  himself  upon  an  isolated  and  elevated  spot, 
which  he  takes  care  to  render  safe  and  strong;  there  he  con- 
structs what  he  will  call  his  castle.  With  whom  does  he  es- 
tablish himself?  With  his  wife  and  children;  perhaps  some 
freemen,  who  have  not  become  proprietors,  attach  themselves 
to  his  person,  and  continue  to  live  with  him,  at  his  table. 
These  are  the  inhabitants  of  the  interior  of  the  castle.  Around 
and  at  his  foot  a  little  population  of  colonists  and  serfs  gather 
together,  who  cultivate  the  domains  of  the  possessor  of  the 
fief.  In  the  center  of  this  lower  population  religion  plants  a 
church;  it  brings  hither  a  priest.  In  the  early  period  of  the 
feudal  system  this  priest  was  commonly  at  the  same  time  the 
chaplain  of  the  castle  and  pastor  of  the  village;    by  and  by 


h- 


58  GUIZOT 

these  two  characters  separated ;  the  village  had  its  own  pastor, 
who  lived  there  beside  his  church.  This,  then,  was  the  ele- 
mentary feudal  society,  the  feudal  molecule,  so  to  speak.  It 
is  this  element  that  we  have  first  of  all  to  examine.  We  will 
demand  of  it  the  double  question  which  should  be  asked  of 
all  our  facts:  What  has  resulted  from  it  in  favor  of  the  de- 
velopment— (i)   of  man  himself,   (2)   of  society? 

We  are  perfectly  justified  in  addressing  this  double  question 
to  the  little  society  which  I  have  just  described,  and  in  placing 
faith  in  its  replies;  for  it  was  the  type  and  faithful  image  of 
the  entire  feudal  society.  The  lord,  the  people  on  his  domains, 
and  the  priest;  such  is  feudalism  upon  the  great  as  well  as 
the  small  scale,  when  we  have  taken  from  it  royalty  and  the 
towns,  which  are  distinct  and  foreign  elements. 

The  first  fact  that  strikes  us  in  contemplating  this  little  so- 
ciety, is  the  prodigious  importance  which  the  possessor  of  the 
fief  must  have  had,  both  in  his  own  eyes,  and  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  surround  him.  The  sentiment  of  personality,  of 
individual  liberty,  predominated  in  the  barbaric  life.  But 
here  it  was  wholly  different ;  it  was  no  longer  only  the  liberty 
of  the  man,  of  the  warrior ;  it  was  the  importance  of  the  pro- 
prietor, of  the  head  of  the  family,  of  the  master,  that  came  to 
be  considered.  From  this  situation  an  impression  of  immense 
superiority  must  have  resulted ;  a  superiority  quite  peculiar, 
and  very  different  from  everything  that  we  meet  with  in  the 
career  of  other  civilizations.  I  will  give  the  proof  of  this.  I 
take  in  the  ancient  world  some  great  aristocratical  position, 
a  Roman  patrician,  for  instance:  like  the  feudal  lord,  the 
Roman  patrician  was  head  of  a  family,  master,  superior.  He 
was,  moreover,  the  religious  magistrate,  the  pontiff  in  the  in- 
terior of  his  family.  Now,  his  importance  as  a  religious  magis- 
trate came  to  him  from  without ;  it  was  not  a  purely  personal 
and  individual  importance;  he  received  it  from  on  high;  he 
was  the  delegate  of  the  Divinity  ;  the  interpreter  of  the  religious 
creed.  The  Roman  patrician  was,  besides,  the  member  of  a 
corporation  which  lived  united  on  the  same  spot,  a  member 
of  the  senate;  this  again  was  an  importance  which  came  to 
him  from  without,  from  his  corporation,  a  received,  a  bor- 
rowed importance.  The  greatness  of  the  ancient  aristocrats, 
associated  as  it  was  with  a  religious  and  political  character, 
belonged  to  the  situation,  to  the  corporation  in  general,  rather 
than  to  the  individual.  That  of  the  possessor  of  the  fief  was 
purely  individual ;  it  was  not  derived  from  any  one ;  all  his 
rights,  all  his  power,  came  to  him  from  himself.  He  was  not 
a  religious  magistrate;  he  took  no  part  in  the  senate;  it  was 
in  his  person  that  all  his  importance  resided ;  all  that  he  was, 
he  was  of  himself,  and  in  his  own  name.     What  a  mighty 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  59 

influence  must  such  a  situation  have  exerted  on  its  occupant! 
What  individual  haughtiness,  what  prodigious  pride — let  us 
say  the  word — what  insolence,  must  have  arisen  in  his  soul  ! 
Above  himself  there  was  no  superior  of  whom  he  was  the 
representative  or  interpreter;  there  was  no  equal  near  him; 
no  powerful  and  general  law  which  weighed  upon  him;  no 
external  rule  which  influenced  his  will;  he  knew  no  curb  but 
the  limits  of  his  strength  and  the  presence  of  danger.  Such 
was  the  necessary  moral  result  of  this  situation  upon  the  char- 
acter of  man. 

I  now  proceed  to  a  second  consequence,  mighty  also,  and 
too  little  noticed,  namely,  the  particular  turn  taken  by  the 
feudal  family  spirit. 

Let  us  cast  a  glance  over  the  various  family  systems.  Take 
first  of  all  the  patriarchal  system  of  which  the  Bible  and 
oriental  records  offer  the  model.  The  family  was  very  numer- 
ous ;  it  was  a  tribe.  The  chief,  the  patriarch,  lived  therein  in 
common  with  his  children,  his  near  relations,  the  various  gen- 
erations which  united  themselves  around  him,  all  his  kindred, 
all  his  servants ;  and  not  only  did  he  live  with  them  all,  but  he 
had  the  same  interests,  the  same  occupations,  and  he  led  the 
same  life.  Was  not  this  the  condition  of  Abraham,  of  the 
patriarchs,  and  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Arab  tribes,  who  still  repro- 
duce the  image  of  the  patriarchal  life? 

Another  family  system  presents  itself,  namely,  the  clan, 
a  petty  society,  whose  type  we  must  seek  for  in  Scotland  or 
Ireland.  Through  this  system,  very  probably,  a  large  portion 
of  the  European  family  has  passed.  This  is  no  longer  the 
patriarchal  family.  There  is  here  a  great  difference  between 
the  situation  of  the  chief  and  that  of  the  rest  of  the  popula- 
tion. They  did  not  lead  the  same  life:  the  greater  portion 
tilled  and  served;  the  chief  was  idle  and  warlike.  But  they 
had  a  common  origin ;  they  all  bore  the  same  name ;  and  their 
relations  of  kindred,  ancient  traditions,  the  same  recollections, 
the  same  affections,  established  a  moral  tie,  a  sort  of  equality 
between  all  the  members  of  the  clan. 

These  are  the  two  principal  types  of  the  family  society  pre- 
sented by  history.  But  have  we  here  the  feudal  family  ?  Obvi- 
ously not.  It  seems,  at  first,  that  the  feudal  family  bears  some 
relation  to  the  clan;  but  the  difference  is  much  greater  than 
the  resemblance.  The  population  which  surrounded  the  pos- 
sessor of  the  fief  were  totally  unconnected  with  him ;  they  did 
not  bear  his  name ;  between  them  and  him  there  was  no  kin- 
dred, no  bond,  moral  or  historical.  Neither  did  it  resemble 
the  patriarchal  family.  The  possessor  of  the  fief  led  not  the 
same  life,  nor  did  he  engage  in  the  same  occupations  with 
those  who  surrounded  him;   he  was  an  idler  and  a  warrior, 


6o  GUIZOT 

while  the  others  were  laborers.  The  feudal  family  was  not 
numerous;  it  was  not  a  tribe;  it  reduced  itself  to  the  family, 
properly  so  called,  namely,  to  the  wife  and  children;  it  lived 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  population,  shut  up  in  the  castle. 
The  colonists  and  serfs  made  no  part  of  it;  the  origin  of  the 
members  of  this  society  was  different,  the  inequality  of  their 
situation  immense.  Five  or  six  individuals,  in  a  situation  at 
once  superior  to  and  estranged  from  the  rest  of  the  society, 
that  was  the  feudal  family.  It  was  of  course  invested  with  a 
peculiar  character.  It  was  narrow,  concentrated,  and  con- 
stantly called  upon  to  defend  itself  against,  to  distrust,  and, 
at  least,  to  isolate  itself  from  even  its  retainers.  The  interior 
life,  domestic  manners,  were  sure  to  become  predominant  in 
such  a  system.  I  am  aware  that  the  brutality  of  the  passions 
of  a  chief,  his  habit  of  spending  his  time  in  warfare  or  the 
chase,  were  a  great  obstacle  to  the  development  of  domestic 
manners.  But  this  would  be  conquered ;  the  chief  necessarily 
returned  home  habitually ;  he  always  found  there  his  wife  and 
children,  and  these  well  nigh  only;  these  would  alone  consti- 
tute his  permanent  society — they  would  alone  share  his  inter- 
ests, his  destiny.  Domestic  life  necessarily,  therefore,  acquired 
great  sway.  Proofs  of  this  abound.  Was  it  not  within  the 
bosom  of  the  feudal  family  that  the  importance  of  women  de- 
veloped itself?  In  all  the  ancient  societies,  I  do  not  speak  of 
those  where  the  family  spirit  did  not  exist,  but  of  those  wherein 
it  was  very  powerful  in  the  patriarchal  life,  for  instance,  women 
did  not  hold  at  all  so  considerable  a  place  as  they  acquired  in 
Europe  under  the  feudal  system.  It  was  to  the  development 
and  necessary  preponderance  of  domestic  manners  in  feudal- 
ism, that  they  chiefly  owed  this  change,  this  progress  in  their 
condition.  Some  have  desired  to  trace  the  cause  to  the  peculiar 
manners  of  the  ancient  Germans;  to  a  national  aspect  which, 
it  is  said,  they  bore  toward  women  amid  their  forests.  Upon 
a  sentence  of  Tacitus,  German  patriotism  has  built  I  know  not 
what  superiority,  what  primitive  and  uneradicable  purity  of 
German  manners,  as  regards  the  relations  of  the  two  sexes. 
Mere  fancies !  Phrases  similar  to  that  of  Tacitus,  concerning 
sentiments  and  usages  analogous  to  those  of  the  ancient  Ger- 
mans, are  to  be  found  in  the  recitals  of  a  crowd  of  observers 
of  savage  or  barbarous  people.  There  is  nothing  primitive 
therein,  nothing  peculiar  in  any  particular  race.  It  was  in 
the  effects  of  a  strongly  marked  social  position,  in  the  progress 
and  preponderance  of  domestic  manners,  that  the  importance 
of  women  in  Europe  originated ;  and  the  preponderance  of 
domestic  manners  became,  very  early,  an  essential  character- 
istic of  the  feudal  system. 
A  second  fact,  another  proof  of  the  empire  of  domestic  life, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  6l 

equally  characterizes  the  feudal  family:  I  mean  the  heredi- 
tary spirit,  the  spirit  of  perpetuation,  which  evidently  predomi- 
nated therein.  The  hereditary  spirit  is  inherent  in  the  family 
spirit ;  but  nowhere  has  it  so  strongly  developed  itself  as  under 
the  feudal  system.  This  resulted  from  the  nature  of  the  prop- 
erty with  which  the  family  was  incorporated.  The  fief  was 
unlike  other  properties;  it  constantly  demanded  a  possessor 
to  defend  it,  serve  it,  acquit  himself  of  the  obligations  inherent 
in  the  domain,  and  thus  maintain  it  in  its  rank  amid  the  general 
association  of  the  masters  of  the  soil.  Thence  resulted  a  sort  of 
identification  between  the  actual  possessor  of  the  fief  and  the 
fief  itself,  and  all  the  series  of  its  future  possessors. 

This  circumstance  greatly  contributed  to  fortify  and  make 
closer  the  family  ties  already  so  powerful  by  the  very  nature  of 
the  feudal  family. 

I  now  issue  from  the  seignorial  dwelling,  and  descend  amid 
the  petty  population  that  surrounds  it.  Here  all  things  wear  a 
different  aspect.  The  nature  of  man  is  so  good  and  fruitful 
that  when  a  social  situation  endures  for  any  length  of  time,  a 
certain  moral  tie,  sentiments  of  protection,  benevolence  and 
affection,  inevitably  establish  themselves  among  those  who  are 
thus  approximated  to  one  another,  whatever  may  be  the  con- 
ditions of  approximation.  It  happened  thus  with  feudalism. 
No  doubt,  after  a  certain  time,  some  moral  relations,  some 
habits  of  affection,  became  contracted  between  the  colonists 
and  the  possessor  of  the  fief.  But  this  happened  in  spite  of 
their  relative  position,  and  not  by  reason  of  its  influence. 
Considered  in  itself,  the  position  was  radically  wrong.  There 
was  nothing  morally  in  common  between  the  possessor  of  the 
fief  and  the  colonists;  they  constituted  part  of  his  domain; 
they  were  his  property;  and  under  this  name,  property,  were 
included  all  the  rights  which,  in  the  present  day,  are  called 
rights  of  public  sovereignty,  as  well  as  the  rights  of  private 
property,  the  right  of  imposing  laws,  of  taxing  and  punishing, 
as  well  as  that  of  disposing  of  and  selling.  As  far  as  it  is  possi- 
ble that  such  should  be  the  case  where  men  are  in  presence  of 
men,  between  the  lord  and  the  cultivators  of  his  lands  there 
existed  no  rights,  no  guarantees,  no  society. 

Hence,  I  conceive,  the  truly  prodigious  and  invincible  hatred 
with  which  the  people  at  all  times  have  regarded  the  feudal 
system,  its  recollections,  its  very  name.  It  is  not  a  case  with- 
out example  for  men  to  have  submitted  to  oppressive  despot- 
isms, and  to  have  become  accustomed  to  them;  nay,  to  have 
willingly  accepted  them.  Theocratic  and  monarchical  despot- 
isms have  more  than  once  obtained  the  consent,  almost  the 
affections,  of  the  population  subjected  to  them.  But  feudal 
despotism  has  always  been  repulsive  and  odious;  it  has  op- 


62  GUIZOT 

pressed  the  destinies,  but  never  reigned  over  the  souls  of  men. 
The  reason  is,  that  in  theocracy  and  monarchy,  power  is  ex- 
ercised in  virtue  of  certain  words  which  are  common  to  the 
master  and  to  the  subject;  it  is  the  representative,  the  minis- 
ter of  another  power  superior  to  all  human  power;  it  speaks 
and  acts  in  the  name  of  the  Divinity  or  of  a  general  idea,  and 
not  in  the  name  of  man  himself,  of  man  alone.  Feudal  des- 
potism was  altogether  different ;  it  was  the  power  of  the  indi- 
vidual over  the  individual;  the  dominion  of  the  personal  and 
capricious  will  of  a  man.  This  is,  perhaps,  the  only  tyranny 
of  which,  to  his  eternal  honor,  man  will  never  willingly  ac- 
cept. Whenever,  in  his  master,  he  beholds  a  mere  man,  from 
the  moment  that  the  will  which  oppresses  him  appears  a  merely 
human  and  individual  will,  like  his  own,  he  becomes  indignant, 
and  supports  the  yoke  wrathfully.  Such  was  the  true  and  dis- 
tinguishing character  of  feudal  power;  and  such  was  also  the 
origin  of  the  antipathy  which  it  has  ever  inspired. 

The  religious  element  which  was  associated  with  it  was 
little  calculated  to  ease  the  burden.  I  do  not  conceive  that  the 
influence  of  the  priest,  in  the  little  society  which  I  have  just 
described,  was  very  great,  nor  that  he  succeeded  much  in 
legitimating  the  relations  of  the  inferior  population  with  the 
lord.  The  church  has  exerted  a  very  great  influence  upon 
European  civilization,  but  this  it  has  done  by  proceedings  of 
a  general  character,  by  changing,  for  instance,  the  general  dis- 
positions of  men.  When  we  enter  closely  into  the  petty  feudal 
society,  properly  so  called,  we  find  that  the  influence  of  the 
priest,  between  the  colonists  and  the  lord,  scarcely  amounted 
to  anything.  Most  frequently  he  was  himself  rude  and  sub- 
ordinate as  a  serf,  and  very  little  in  condition  or  disposition  to 
combat  the  arrogance  of  the  lord.  No  doubt,  called,  as  he  was, 
to  sustain  and  develop  somewhat  of  moral  life  in  the  inferior 
population,  he  was  dear  and  useful  to  it  on  this  account;  he 
spread  through  it  somewhat  of  consolation  and  of  life;  but, 
I  conceive,  he  could  and  did  very  little  to  alleviate  its  destiny. 

I  have  examined  the  elementary  feudal  society;  I  have 
placed  before  you  the  principal  consequences  which  necessarily 
flowed  from  it,  whether  to  the  possessor  of  the  fief  himself, 
or  his  family,  or  the  population  congregated  around  him.  Let 
us  now  go  forth  from  this  narrow  inclosure.  The  population 
of  the  fief  was  not  alone  upon  the  land  ;  there  were  other  socie- 
ties, analogous  or  different ;  with  which  it  bore  relation. 
What  influence  did  the  general  society,  to  which  that  popula- 
tion belonged,  necessarily  exercise  upon  civilization? 

I  will  make  a  brief  remark  before  answering  this  question : 
It  is  true  that  the  possessor  of  the  fief  and  the  priest  belonged, 
one  and  the  other,  to  a  general  society ;  they  had  at  a  distance 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  63 

numerous  and  frequent  relations.  It  was  not  the  same  with 
the  colonists,  the  serfs ;  every  time  that,  in  order  to  designate 
the  population  of  the  country  at  this  period,  we  make  use  of 
a  general  word,  which  seems  to  imply  one  and  the  same  society, 
the  word  people,  for  example,  we  do  not  convey  the  truth. 
There  was  for  this  population  no  general  society;  its  exist- 
ence was  purely  local.  Beyond  the  territory  which  they  in- 
habited the  colonists  had  no  connection  with  any  thing  or 
person.  For  them  there  was  no  common  destiny,  no  common 
country ;  they  did  not  form  a  people.  When  we  speak  of  the 
feudal  association  as  a  whole,  it  is  only  the  possessors  of  the 
fiefs  that  are  concerned. 

Let  us  see  what  were  the  relations  of  the  petty  feudal  society 
with  the  general  society  with  which  it  was  connected,  and  to 
what  consequences  these  relations  necessarily  led  as  regards 
the  development  of  civilization. 

You  are  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  ties  which  united 
the  possessors  of  the  fiefs  among  themselves,  with  the  obli- 
gations of  service  on  the  one  hand,  of  protection  on  the  other. 
I  shall  not  enter  into  a  detail  of  these  obligations;  it  suffices 
that  you  have  a  general  idea  of  their  character.  From  these 
obligations  there  necessarily  arose  within  the  mind  of  each 
possessor  of  a  fief  a  certain  number  of  moral  ideas  and  senti- 
ments, ideas  of  duty,  sentiments  of  affection.  The  fact  is 
evident  that  the  principle  of  fidelity,  of  devotion,  of  loyalty  to 
engagements,  and  all  sentiments  connected  therewith,  were  de- 
veloped and  sustained  by  the  relations  of  the  possessors  of  the 
fiefs  between  themselves. 

These  obligations,  duties  and  sentiments  endeavored  to  con- 
vert themselves  into  rights  and  institutions.  Every  one  knows 
that  feudalism  desired  legally  to  determine  what  were  the  ser- 
vices due  from  the  possessor  of  the  fief  toward  his  suzerain; 
what  were  the  services  which  he  might  expect  in  return;  in 
what  cases  the  vassal  owed  pecuniary  or  military  aid  to  his 
suzerain ;  in  what  forms  the  suzerain  ought  to  obtain  the  con- 
sent of  his  vassals,  for  services  to  which  they  were  not  com- 
pelled by  the  simple  tenure  of  their  fiefs.  Attempts  were  made 
to  place  all  their  rights  under  the  guarantee  of  institutions, 
which  aimed  at  insuring  their  being  respected.  Thus,  the 
seignorial  jurisdictions  were  destined  to  render  justice  be- 
tween the  possessors  of  the  fiefs  upon  claims  carried  before 
their  common  suzerain.  Thus,  also,  each  lord  who  was  of  any 
consideration  assembled  his  vassals  in  a  parliament,  in  order 
to  treat  with  them  concerning  matters  which  required  their 
consent  or  their  concurrence.  In  short,  there  existed  a  collec- 
tion of  political,  judicial  and  military  means,  with  which  at- 
tempts were  made  to  organize  the  feudal  system,  converting 


64  GUIZOT 

the  relations  between  the  possessors  of  fiefs  into  rights  and 
institutions. 

But  these  rights  and  these  institutions  had  no  reahty,  no 
guarantee. 

If  one  is  asked  what  is  meant  by  a  guarantee,  a  poHtical 
guarantee,  one  is  led  to  perceive  that  its  fundamental  character 
is  the  constant  presence,  in  the  midst  of  the  society,  of  a  will, 
of  a  power  disposed  and  in  a  condition  to  impose  a  law  upon 
particular  wills  and  powers,  to  make  them  observe  the  common 
rule  and  respect  the  general  right. 

There  are  only  two  systems  of  political  guarantees  possible : 
it  is  either  necessary  there  should  be  a  particular  will  and 
power  so  superior  to  all  others  that  none  should  be  able  to 
resist  it,  and  that  all  should  be  compelled  to  submit  to  it  as 
soon  as  it  interferes ;  or  else  that  there  should  be  a  public  will 
and  power,  which  is  the  result  of  agreement,  of  the  develop- 
ment of  particular  wills,  and  which,  once  gone  forth  from 
them,  is  in  a  condition  to  impose  itself  upon,  and  to  make 
itself  respected  equally  by  all. 

VSuch  are  the  two  possible  systems  of  political  guarantees: 
the  despotism  of  one  or  of  a  body,  or  free  government.  When 
we  pass  systems  in  review,  we  find  that  all  of  them  come  under 
one  or  other  of  these  heads. 

Well,  neither  one  nor  the  other  existed,  nor  could  exist, 
under  the  feudal  system. 

No  doubt  the  possessors  of  the  fiefs  were  not  all  equal 
among  themselves ;  there  were  many  of  superior  power,  many 
powerful  enough  to  oppress  the  weaker.  But  there  was  no 
one,  beginning  from  the  first  of  the  suzerains,  the  king,  who 
was  in  condition  to  impose  law  upon  all  the  others  and  make 
.  himself  obeyed.  Observe  that  all  the  permanent  means  of 
^— ^  power  and  action  were  wanting:  there  were  no  permanent 
'  troops,  no  permanent  taxes,  no  permanent  tribunals.  The 
social  powers  and  institutions  had,  after  a  manner,  to  recom- 
mence and  create  themselves  anew  every  time  they  were  re- 
quired. A  tribunal  was  obliged  to  be  constructed  for  every 
process,  an  army  whenever  there  was  a  war  to  be  made,  a 
revenue  whenever  money  was  wanted;  everything  was  occa- 
sional, accidental  and  special ;  there  was  no  means  of  central, 
permanent  and  independent  government.  It  is  plain  that,  in 
such  a  system,  no  individual  was  in  a  condition  to  impose  his 
will  upon  others,  or  to  cause  the  general  rights  to  be  respected 
by  all. 

On  the  other  hand,  resistance  was  as  easy  as  repression 
was  difficult.  Shut  up  in  his  castle,  having  to  do  only  with 
a  small  number  of  enemies,  easily  finding  among  vassals  of 
his  own  condition  the  means  of  coalition,  and  of  assistance, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  65 

the  possessor  of  the  fief  defended  himself  with  the  greatest 
facihty. 

Thus,  then,  we  see  that  the  first  system  of  guarantees,  the 
system  which  places  them  in  the  intervention  of  the  strongest, 
was  not  possible  under  feudalism. 

The  other  system,  that  of  a  free  government,  a  public  power, 
was  equally  impracticable;  it  could  never  have  arisen  in  the 
bosom  of  feudalism.  The  reason  is  sufficiently  simple. 
When  we  speak,  in  the  present  day,  of  a  public  power,  of  that 
which  we  call  the  rights  of  sovereignty,  the  right  of  giving 
laws,  taxing  and  punishing,  we  all  think  that  those  rights 
belong  to  no  one,  that  no  one  has,  on  his  own  account,  a  right 
to  punish  others,  and  to  impose  upon  them  a  charge,  a  law. 
Those  are  rights  which  belong  only  to  society  in  the  mass, 
rights  which  are  exercised  in  its  name,  which  it  holds  not  of 
itself,  but  receives  from  the  Highest.,  Thus,  when  an  indi- 
vidual comes  before  the  powers  invested  with  these  rights, 
the  sentiment  which,  perhaps  without  his  consciousness, 
reigns  in  him  is,  that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  a  public  and 
legitimate  power,  which  possesses  a  mission  for  commanding 
him,  and  he  is  submissive  beforehand  and  internally.  But  it 
was  wholly  otherwise  under  feudalism.  The  possessor  of  the 
fief,  in  his  domain,  was  invested  with  all  the  rights  of  sov- 
ereignty over  those  who  inhabited  it ;  they  were  inherent  to 
the  domain,  and  a  part  of  his  private  property.  What  are 
at  present  public  rights  were  then  private  rights;  what  is 
now  public  power  was  then  private  power.  When  the  pas- 
sessor  of  a  fief,  after  having  exercised  sovereignty  in  his  own 
name,  as  a  proprietor  over  all  the  population  amid  which  he 
lived,  presented  himself  at  an  assembly,  a  parliament  held  be- 
fore his  suzerain,  a  parliament  not  very  numerous,  and  com- 
posed in  general  of  men  who  were  his  equals,  or  nearly  so, 
he  did  not  bring  with  him,  nor  did  he  carry  away  the  idea  of 
a  public  power.  This  idea  was  in  contradiction  to  all  his 
existence,  to  all  that  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  in  the 
interior  of  his  own  domains.  He  saw  there  only  men  who 
were  invested  with  the  same  rights  as  himself,  who  were  in 
the  same  situation,  and,  like  him,  acted  in  the  name  of  their 
personal  will.  Nothing  in  the  most  elevated  department  of  the 
government,  in  what  we  call  public  institutions,  conveyed  to 
him,  or  forced  him  to  recognize  this  character  of  superiority 
and  generality,  which  is  inherent  to  the  idea  that  we  form 
to  ourselves  of  public  powers.  And  if  he  was  dissatisfied  with 
the  decision,  he  refused  to  agree  with  it,  or  appealed  to  force 
for  resistance. 

Under  the  feudal  system,  force  was  the  true  and  habitual 
guarantee  of  right,  if,  indeed,  we  may  call  force  a  guarantee. 
5 


66  GUIZOT 

All  rights  had  perpetual  recourse  to  force  to  make  themselves 
recognized  or  obeyed.  No  institution  succeeded  in  doing  this ; 
and  this  was  so  generally  felt  that  institutions  were  rarely 
appealed  to.  If  the  seignorial  courts  and  parliaments  of  vassals 
had  been  capable  of  influence,  we  should  have  met  with  them 
in  history  more  frequently  than  we  do,  and  found  them  exert- 
ing more  activity;  their  rarity  proves  their  invalidity. 

At  this  we  must  not  be  astonished  ;  there  is  a  reason  for  it, 
more  decisive  and  deeply  seated  than  those  which  I  have  de- 
scribed. 

Of  all  systems  of  government  and  political  guarantee,  the  fed- 
erative system  is  certainly  the  most  difficult  to  establish  and  to 
render  prevalent  ;  a  system  which  consists  in  leaving  in  each 
locality  and  each  particular  society  all  that  portion  of  the  govern- 
ment which  can  remain  there,  and  in  taking  from  it  only  that 
portion  which  is  indispensable  to  the  maintenance  of  the  general 
society,  and  carrying  this  to  the  center  of  that  society,  there  to 
constitute  of  it  a  central  government.  The  federative  system, 
logically  the  most  simple,  is,  in  fact,  the  most  complex.  In 
order  to  reconcile  the  degree  of  local  independence  and  liberty 
which  it  allows  to  remain,  with  the  degree  of  general  order  and 
submission  which  it  demands  and  supposes  in  certain  cases,  a 
very  advanced  degree  of  civilization  is  evidently  requisite ;  it  ii 
necessary  that  the  will  of  man,  that  individual  liberty,  should 
concur  in  the  establishment  and  maintenance  of  this  system, 
much  more  than  in  that  of  any  other,  for  its  means  of  coercion 
are  far  less  than  those  of  any  other. 

The  federative  system,  then,  is  that  which  evidently  requires 
the  greatest  development  of  reason,  morality  and  civilization  in 
the  society  to  which  it  is  applied.  Well,  this,  nevertheless,  was 
the  system  which  feudalism  endeavored  to  establish  ;  the  idea  of 
genaral  feudalism,  in  fact,  was  that  of  a  federation.  It  reposed 
upon  the  same  principles  on  which  are  founded,  in  our  day,  the 
federation  of  the  United  States  of  America,  for  example.  It 
aimed  at  leaving  in  the  hands  of  each  lord  all  that  portion  of  gov- 
ernment and  sovereignty  which  could  remain  there,  and  to  carry 
to  the  suzerain,  or  to  the  general  assembly  of  barons,  only  the 
least  possible  portion  of  power,  and  that  only  in  cases  of  absolute 
necessity.  You  perceive  the  impossibility  of  establishing  such 
a  system  amid  ignorance,  amid  brutal  passions — in  short,  in  a 
normal  state  so  imperfect  as  that  of  man  under  feudalism.  The 
very  nature  of  government  was  contradictory  to  the  ideas  and 
manners  of  the  very  men  to  whom  it  was  attempted  to  be  applied. 
Who  can  be  astonished  at  the  ill  success  of  these  endeavors  at 
organization? 

We  have  considered  feudal  society,  first  in  its  most  simple  and 
fundamental  element,  then  in  its  entirety.     We  have  examined, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  67 

under  these  two  points  of  view,  that  which  it  necessarily  did,  that 
which  naturally  flowed  from  it,  as  to  its  influence  upon  the 
course  of  civilization.  I  conceive  that  we  have  arrived  at  this 
double  result: 

First,  federalism  has  exerted  a  great,  and,  on  the  whole,  a 
salutary  influence  upon  the  internal  development  of  the  indi- 
vidual ;  it  has  awakened  in  men's  minds  ideas,  energetic  senti- 
ments, moral  requirements,  fine  developments  of  character  and    * 
passion. 

Secondly,  under  the  social  point  of  view,  it  was  unable  to  es- 
tablish either  legal  order  or  political  guarantees  ;  it  was  indis-    • 

pensable  to  the  revival  in  Europe  of  society,  which  had  been  so    1 

entirely  dissolved  by  barbarism  that  it  was  incapable  of  a  more  t 
regular  and  more  extended  form  ;  but  the  feudal  form,  radically  I 
bad  in  itself,  could  neither  regulate  nor  extend  itself.  The  only 
political  right  which  the  feudal  system  caused  to  assert  itself  in 
European  society  was  the  right  of  resistance — I  do  not  say  legal 
resistance,  that  could  not  have  place  in  a  society  so  little  ad- 
vanced. The  progress  of  society  consists  precisely  in  substitut- 
ing, on  the  one  hand,  public  powers  for  particular  wills  ;  on  the 
other,  legal,  for  individual  resistance.  In  this  consists  the  grand 
aim,  the  principal  perfection  of  the  social  order  ;  much  latitude 
is  left  to  personal  liberty  ;  then,  when  that  liberty  fails,  when  it 
becomes  necessary  to  demand  from  it  an  account  of  itself,  appeal 
is  made  to  public  reason  alone,  to  determine  the  process  insti- 
tuted against  the  liberty  of  the  individual.  Such  is  the  system 
of  legal  order  and  of  legal  resistance.  You  perceive,  without 
difficulty,  that  under  feudalism  there  existed  nothing  of  this  sort. 
The  right  of  resistance  which  the  feudal  system  maintained  and 
practised  was  the  right  of  personal  resistance — a  terrible,  un- 
social right,  since  it  appeals  to  force  and  to  war,  which  is  the  de- 
struction of  society  itself  ;  a  right  which,  nevertheless,  should 
never  be  abolished  from  the  heart  of  man,  for  its  abolition  is  the 
acceptation  of  servitude.  The  sentiment  of  the  right  or  resist- 
ance had  perished  in  the  disgrace  of  Roman  society,  and  could 
not  rise  anew  from  its  wreck  ;  it  could  not  come  more  naturally, 
in  my  opinion,  from  the  principle  of  the  Christian  society.  To 
feudalism  we  are  indebted  for  its  re-introduction  into  the  man- 
ners of  Europe.  It  is  the  boast  of  civilization  to  render  it  always 
useless  and  inactive  ;  it  the  boast  of  the  feudal  system  to  have 
constantly  professed  and  defended  it. 

Such,  if  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  is  the  result  of  an  examina- 
tion of  feudal  society,  considered  in  itself,  in  its  general  ele- 
ments, and  independently  of  historical  development.  If  we 
pass  on  to  facts,  to  history,  we  shall  see  that  has  happened  which 
might  have  been  looked  for ;  that  the  feudal  system  has  done 
what  it  was  fitted  to  do ;  that  its  destiny  has  been  in  conformity 


6S  GUIZOT 

with  its  nature.  Events  may  be  adduced  in  proof  of  all  the 
conjectures  and  inferences  which  I  have  drawn  from  the  very 
nature  of  this  system. 

Cast  a  glance  upon  the  general  history  of  feudalism  between 
the  tenth  and  thirteenth  centuries  ;  it  is  impossible  to  mistake 
the  great  and  salutary  influence  exerted  by  it  upon  the  develop- 
ment of  sentiments,  characters,  and  ideas.  We  cannot  look  into 
the  history  of  this  period  without  meeting  with  a  crowd  of  noble 
sentiments,  great  actions,  fine  displays  of  humanity,  born  evi- 
dently in  the  bosom  of  feudal  manners.  Chivalry,  it  is  true,  does 
not  resemble  feudalism — nevertheless,  it  is  its  daughter  :  from 
feudalism  issued  this  ideal  of  elevated,  generous,  loyal  senti- 
ments.    It  says  much  in  favor  of  its  parentage. 

Turn  your  eyes  to  another  quarter  :  the  first  bursts  of  Euro- 
pean imagination,  the  first  attempts  of  poetry  and  of  literature, 
the  first  intellectual  pleasures  tasted  by  Europe  on  its  quitting 
barbarism,  under  the  shelter,  under  the  wings  of  feudalism,  in 
the  interior  of  the  feudal  castles,  that  all  these  were  born.  This 
kind  of  development  of  humanity  requires  a  movement  in  the 
soul,  in  life,  leisure,  a  thousand  conditions  which  are  not  to  be 
met  with  in  the  laborious,  melancholy,  coarse,  hard  existence  of 
the  common  people.  In  France,  in  England,  in  Germany, 
it  is  with  the  feudal  times  that  the  first  literary  recollections,  the 
first  intellectual  enjoyments  of  Europe  connect  themselves. 

On  the  other,  if  we  consult  history  upon  the  social  influence 
of  feudalism,  its  answers  will  always  be  in  harmony  with  our 
conjectures  ;  it  will  reply  that  the  feudal  system  has  been  as 
much  opposed  to  the  establishment  of  general  order  as  to  the 
extension  of  general  liberty.  Under  whatever  point  of  view 
you  consider  the  progress  of  society,  you  find  the  feudal  system 
acting  as  an  obstacle.  Therefore,  from  the  earliest  existence  of 
feudalism,  the  two  forces  which  have  been  the  grand  motive 
powers  of  the  development  of  order  and  liberty — on  one  hand 
the  monarchical  power,  the  popular  power  on  the  other  ;  roy- 
alty, and  the  people — have  attacked  and  struggled  against  it  un- 
ceasingly. Some  attempts  have,  at  different  times,  been  made 
to  regulate  it,  and  construct  out  of  it  a  state  somewhat  legal  and 
general  :  in  England,  such  attempts  were  made  by  William  the 
Conqueror  and  his  sons  ;  in  France,  by  St.  Louis  ;  in  Germany, 
by  many  of  the  emperors.  All  attempts,  all  efforts  have  failed. 
The  very  nature  of  feudal  society  was  repugnant  to  order  and 
legality.  In  modern  ages,  some  men  of  intellect  have  attempted 
to  re-establish  feudalism  as  a  social  system  ;  they  have  desired 
to  discover  therein  a  legal,  regulated,  and  progressive  state  ; 
they  have  made  of  it  an  age  of  gold.  But  ask  them  to  assign  the 
age  of  gold  to  some  particular  place  or  time,  and  they  can  do  no 
such  thing  :  it  is  an  Utopia  without  a  date,  a  drama  for  which 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  69 

we  find,  in  past  times,  neither  theater  nor  actors.  The  cause  of 
this  error  is  easy  to  discover,  and  it  equally  explains  the  mistake 
of  those  who  cannot  pronounce  the  name  of  feudalism  without 
cursing  it.  Neither  one  party  nor  the  other  has  taken  the  pains 
to  consider  the  double  aspect  under  which  feudalism  presents  it- 
self ;  to  distinguish,  on  the  one  hand,  its  influence  upon  the  in- 
dividual development  of  man,  upon  sentiments,  characters  and 
passions,  and,  on  the  other,  its  influence  upon  the  social  state. 
The  one  party  has  not  been  able  to  persuade  itself  that  a  social 
system,  in  which  so  many  beautiful  sentiments,  so  many  virtues 
are  found — in  which  they  behold  the  birth  of  all  literatures,  and 
in  which  manners  assume  a  certain  elevation  and  nobility — can 
have  been  so  bad  and  fatal  as  it  is  pretended.  The  other  party 
has  only  seen  the  wrong  done  by  feudalism  to  the  mass  of  the 
population,  the  obstacles  opposed  by  it  to  the  establishment  of 
order  and  liberty;  and  this  party  has  not  been  able  to  believe  that 
fine  characters,  great  virtues,  and  any  progress,  can  have  resulted 
from  it.  Both  have  mistaken  the  double  element  of  civilization  ; 
they  have  not  understood  that  it  consists  of  two  developments, 
of  which  the  one  may,  in  time,  produce  itself  independently  of 
the  other  ;  although,  after  the  course  of  centuries,  and  by  means 
of  a  long  series  of  circumstances,  they  must  reciprocally  call 
forth  and  lead  to  each  other. 

For  the  rest,  that  which  feudalism  was  in  theory  it  was  in  fact  ; 
that  to  which  theory  pointed  as  likely  to  result  from  it,  has  re- 
sulted from  it.  Individuality  and  energy  of  personal  existence, 
such  was  the  predominating  trait  among  the  conquerors  of  the 
Roman  world  ;  the  development  of  individuality  necessarily 
resulted,  before  all  things,  from  the  social  system  which  was 
founded  by  and  for  themselves.  That  which  man  himself 
brings  to  a  social  system,  at  the  moment  of  his  entrance,  his  in- 
ternal and  moral  qualities,  powerfully  influence  the  situation  in 
which  he  establishes  himself.  The  situation,  in  turn,  reacts  upon 
these  qualities,  and  strengthens  and  develops  them.  The  indi- 
vidual predominated  in  the  German  society ;  it  was  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  development  of  the  individual  that  feudal  society,  the 
daughter  of  German  society,  exerted  its  influence.  We  shall 
again  find  the  same  fact  in  the  different  elements  of  civilization  ; 
they  have  remained  faithful  to  their  principle;  they  have  ad- 
vanced and  urged  on  the  world  in  the  direction  which  they  first 
entered.  In  our  next  lecture  the  history  of  the  church  and  its 
influence,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  upon  European 
civilization,  will  furnish  us  with  another  and  a  striking  illustra- 
tion of  this  fact. 


FIFTH    LECTURE. 

WE  have  examined  the  nature  and  influence  of  the  feudal 
system  ;  it  is  with  the  Christian  church,  from  the  fifth 
to  the  twelfth  century,  that  we  are  now  to  occupy 
ourselves  :  I  say,  with  the  church  ;  and  I  have  already  laid  this 
emphasis,  because  it  is  not  with  Christianity  properly  speaking, 
with  Christianity  as  a  religious  system,  but  with  the  church  as 
an  ecclesiastical  society,  with  the  Christian  clergy,  that  I  propose 
to  engage  your  attention. 

In  the  'fifth  century  this  society  was  almost  completely  organ- 
ized ;  not  that  it  has  not  since  then  undergone  many  and  impor- 
tant changes  ;  but  we  may  say  that  at  that  time,  the  church,  con- 
sidered as  a  corporation,  as  a  government  of  Christian  people, 
had  attained  a  complete  and  independent  existence. 

One  glance  is  enough  to  show  us  an  immense  diflference  be- 
tween the  state  of  the  church  and  that  of  the  other  elements  of 
European  civilization  in  the  fifth  century.  I  have  mentioned, 
as  the  fundamental  elements  of  our  civilization,  the  municipal 
and  feudal  systems,  royalty,  and  the  church.  The  municipal 
system,  in  the  fifth  century,  was  no  more  than  the  wreck  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  a  shadow  without  life  or  determinate  form. 
The  feudal  system  had  not  yet  issued  from  the  chaos.  Royalty 
existed  only  in  name.  All  the  civil  elements  of  modern  society 
were  either  in  decay  or  infancy.  The  church  alone  was,  at  the 
same  time,  young  and  constituted  ;  it  alone  had  acquired  a  defi- 
nite form,  and  preserved  all  the  vigor  of  early  age  ;  it  alone 
possessed,  at  once,  movement  and  order,  energy  and  regularity, 
that  is  to  say,  the  two  great  means  of  influence.  Is  it  not,  let  me 
ask  you,  by  moral  life,  by  internal  movement,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  by  order  and  discipline  on  the  other,  that  institutions  take 
possession  of  society?  The  church,  moreover,  had  mooted  all 
the  great  questions  which  interest  man  ;  it  busied  itself  with  all 
the  problems  of  his  nature,  and  with  all  the  chances  of  his  des- 
tiny. Thus  its  influence  upon  modern  civilization  has  been  very 
great,  greater,  perhaps,  than  even  its  most  ardent  adversaries, 
or  its  most  zealous  defenders  have  supposed.  Occupied  with 
rendering  it  services,  or  with  combating  it,  they  have  regarded 
it  only  in  a  polemical  point  of  view,  and  have  therefore,  I  con- 
ceive, been  unable  either  to  judge  it  with  equity,  or  to  measure 
it  in  all  its  extent. 

70 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  71 

The  Christian  church  in  the  fifth  century  presents  itself  as  an 
independent  and  constituted  society,  interposed  between  the 
masters  of  the  world,  the  sovereigns,  the  possessors  of  the  tem- 
poral power  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  people  on  the  other,  serv- 
ing as  a  bond  between  them,  and  influencing  all. 

In  order  completely  to  know  and  comprehend  its  action,  we 
must  therefore  consider  it  under  three  aspects  :  first  of  all  we 
must  regard  it  in  itself,  make  an  estimate  of  what  it  was,  of  its 
internal  constitution,  of  the  principles  which  predominated  in  it, 
and  of  its  nature  ;  we  must  then  examine  it  in  its  relation  to  the 
temporal  sovereignties,  kings,  lords,  and  others  ;  lastly,  in  its 
relations  to  the  people.  And  when  from  this  triple  examination 
we  shall  have  deduced  a  complete  picture  of  the  church,  of  its 
principles,  its  situation,  and  the  influence  which  it  necessarily 
exercised,  we  shall  verify  our  assertions  by  an  appeal  to  history  ; 
we  shall  find  out  whether  the  facts  and  events,  properly  so  called, 
from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  are  in  harmony  with  the 
results  to  which  we  have  been  led  by  the  study  of  the  nature  of 
the  church,  and  of  its  relations,  both  with  the  masters  of  the 
world  and  with  the  people. 

First  of  all,  let  us  occupy  ourselves  with  the  church  in  itself, 
with  its  internal  condition,  and  its  nature. 

The  first  fact  which  strikes  us,  and  perhaps  the  most  impor- 
tant, is  its  very  existence,  the  existence  of  a  religious  govern- 
ment, of  a  clergy,  of  an  ecclesiastical  corporation,  of  a  priest- 
hood, of  a  religion  in  the  sacerdotal  state. 

With  many  enlightened  men,  these  very  words,  a  body  of 
priesthood,  a  religious  government,  appear  to  determine  the 
question.  They  think  that  a  religion  which  ends  in  a  body  of 
priests,  a  legally  constituted  clergy,  in  short,  a  governed  relig- 
ion, must  be,  taking  all  things  together,  more  injurious  than 
useful.  In  their  opinion,  religion  is  a  purely  individual  relation 
of  man  to  God  ;  and  that  whenever  the  relation  loses  this  char- 
acter, whenever  an  external  authority  comes  between  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  object  of  religious  creeds — namely,  God — religion 
is  deteriorated,  and  society  in  danger. 

We  cannot  dispense  with  an  examination  of  this  question.  In 
order  to  ascertain  what  has  been  the  influence  of  the  Christian 
church,  we  must  know  what  ought  to  be,  by  the  very  nature  of 
the  institution,  the  influence  of  a  church  and  of  a  clergy.  In 
order  to  appreciate  this  influence,  we  must  find  out,  first  of  all, 
whether  religion  is,  in  truth,  purely  individual  ;  whether  it  does 
not  provoke  and  give  birth  to  something  more  than  merely  a 
private  relation  between  each  man  and  God  ;  or  whether  it  nec- 
essarily becomes  a  source  of  new  relations  between  men,  from 
which  a  religious  society  and  a  government  of  that  society  nec- 
essarily flow. 


72  GUIZOT 

If  we  reduce  religion  to  the  religious  sentiment  properly  so 
called,  to  that  sentiment  which  is  very  real,  though  somewhat 
vague  and  uncertain  as  to  its  object,  and  which  we  can  scarcely 
characterize  otherwise  than  by  naming  it, — to  this  sentiment 
which  addresses  itself  sometimes  to  external  nature,  sometimes 
to  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  soul,  to-day  to  poetry,  to-mor- 
row to  the  mysteries  of  the  future,  which,  in  a  word,  wanders 
everywhere,  seeking  everywhere  to  satisfy  itself,  and  fixing  itself 
nowhere, — if  we  reduce  religion  to  this  sentiment,  it  seems  evi- 
dent to  me  that  it  should  remain  purely  individual.  Such  a 
sentiment  may  provoke  a  momentary  association  between  men  ; 
it  can,  it  even  ought  to  take  pleasure  in  sympathy,  nourishing 
and  strengthening  itself  thereby.  But  by  reason  of  its  fluctuat- 
ing and  doubtful  character  it  refuses  to  become  the  principle  of 
a  permanent  and  extensive  association,  to  adapt  itself  to  any  sys- 
tem of  precepts,  practices,  and  forms ;  in  short,  to  give  birth  to  a 
religious  society  and  government. 

But  either  I  deceive  myself  strangely,  or  this  religious  senti- 
ment is  not  the  complete  expression  of  the  religious  nature  of 
man.  Religion,  I  conceive,  is  a  different  thing,  and  much  more 
than  this. 

In  human  nature  and  in  human  destiny  there  are  problems  of 
which  the  solution  lies  beyond  this  world,  which  are  connected 
with  a  class  of  things  foreign  to  the  visible  world,  and  which  in- 
veterately  torment  the  soul  of  man,  who  is  fixedly  intent  upon 
solving  them.  The  solution  of  these  problems,  creeds,  dogmas, 
which  contain  that  solution,  or  at  least  flatter  themselves  that 
they  do,  these  constitute  the  first  object  and  the  first  source  of 
religion. 

Another  path  leads  men  to  religion.  To  those  among  you 
who  have  prosecuted  somewhat  extended  philosophical  studies, 
it  is,  I  conceive,  sufficiently  evident  at  present  that  morality  ex- 
ists independently  of  religious  ideas  ;  that  the  distinction  of 
moral  good  and  evil,  the  obligation  to  shun  the  evil,  and  to  do 
the  good,  are  laws,  which,  like  the  laws  of  logic,  man  discovers 
in  his  own  nature,  and  which  have  their  principle  in  himself,  as 
they  have  their  application  in  his  actual  life.  But  these  facts  be- 
ing decided,  the  independence  of  morality  being  admitted,  a 
question  arises  in  the  human  mind — Whence  comes  morality? 
To  what  does  it  lead?  Is  this  obligation  to  do  good,  which  sub- 
sists of  itself,  an  isolated  fact,  without  author  and  aim?  Does  it 
not  conceal  from,  or  rather  does  it  not  reveal  to  man  a  destiny 
which  is  beyond  this  world?  This  is  a  spontaneous  and  inevita- 
ble question,  by  which  morality,  in  its  turn,  leads  man  to  the 
door  of  religion,  and  discovers  to  him  a  sphere  from  which  he 
had  not  borrowed  morality. 

Thus,  in  the  problems  of  our  nature,  upon  one  hand,  and  in 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  73 

the  necessity  of  discovering  a  sanction,  origin,  and  aim  for  mo- 
rality, on  the  other,  we  find  assured  and  fruitful  sources  of  relig- 
ion, which  thus  presents  itself  under  aspects  very  different  from 
that  of  a  mere  instrument,  as  it  has  been  described  ;  it  presents 
itself  as  a  collection — first,  of  doctrines  called  forth  by  problems 
which  man  discovers  within  himself  ;  and,  of  precepts  which 
correspond  to  those  doctrines,  and  give  to  natural  morality  a 
meaning  and  sanction;  second,  of  promises  which  address  them- 
selves to  the  hopes  of  humanity  in  the  future.  This  is  what  truly 
constitutes  religion  ;  this  is  what  it  is  at  bottom,  and  not  a  mere 
form  of  sensibility,  a  flight  of  the  imagination,  a  species  of  poetry. 

Reduced  in  this  manner  to  its  true  elements  and  to  its  essence, 
religion  no  longer  appears  as  a  purely  individual  fact,  but  as  a 
powerful  and  fruitful  principle  of  association.  Consider  it  as  a 
system  of  creeds  and  dogmas  ;  truth  belongs  to  no  one  ;  it  is 
universal,  absolute  ;  men  must  seek  and  profess  it  in  common. 
Consider  the  precepts  that  associate  themselves  with  doctrines  : 
an  obligatory  law  for  one  is  such  for  all  ;  it  must  be  promul- 
gated, it  must  bring  all  men  under  its  empire.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  promises  made  by  religion  in  the  name  of  its  creeds  and 
precepts  :  they  must  be  spread  abroad,  and  all  men  must  be 
called  to  gather  the  fruits  of  them.  From  the  essential  elements 
of  religion,  then,  you  see  that  the  religious  society  is  born  ;  in- 
deed, it  flows  therefrom  so  infallibly  that  the  word  which  ex- 
presses the  most  energetic  social  sentiment,  the  most  imperious 
necessity  of  propagating  ideas  and  extending  a  society,  is  the 
word  proselytism,  a  word  which  applies  above  all  to  religious 
creeds,  and,  indeed,  seems  to  be  almost  exclusively  consecrated 
to  them. 

The  religious  society  being  once  born,  when  a  certain  number 
of  men  become  united  in  common  religious  creeds,  under  the 
law  of  common  religious  precepts,  and  in  common  religious 
hopes,  that  society  must  have  a  government.  There  is  no  society 
which  can  survive  a  week,  an  hour,  without  a  government.  At 
the  very  instant  in  which  the  society  forms  itself,  and  even  by 
the  very  fact  of  its  formation,  it  calls  a  government,  which  pro- 
claims the  common  truth,  the  bond  of  the  society,  and  promul- 
gates and  supports  the  precepts  which  originate  in  that  truth. 
The  necessity  for  a  power,  for  a  government  over  the  religious 
society,  as  over  every  other,  is  implied  in  the  fact  of  the  existence 
of  that  society.  And  not  only  is  government  necessary,  but  it 
naturally  forms  itself.  I  must  not  pause  for  any  time  to  explain 
how  government  originates  and  establishes  itself  in  society  in 
general.  I  shall  confine  myself  to  saying  that,  when  things  fol- 
low their  natural  laws,  when  external  force  does  not  mix  itself 
up  with  them,  power  always  flies  to  the  most  capable,  to  the  best, 
to  those  who  will  lead  society  toward  its  aim.     In  a  warlike  ex- 


74  GUIZOT 

pedition  the  bravest  obtain  the  power.  If  research  or  skilful 
enterprise  is  the  object  of  an  association,  the  most  capable  will 
be  at  the  head  of  it.  In  all  things,  when  the  world  is  left  to  its 
natural  course,  the  natural  inequality  of  men  freely  displays  it- 
self, and  each  takes  the  place  which  he  is  capable  of  occupying. 
Well,  as  regards  religion,  men  are  no  more  equal  in  talents, 
faculties,  and  power  than  in  the  other  cases  ;  such  a  one  will  be 
better  able  than  any  other  to  expound  religious  doctrines,  and  to 
cause  them  to  be  generally  adopted  ;  some  other  bears  about 
him  more  authority  to  induce  the  observance  of  religious  pre- 
cepts ;  a  third  will  excel  in  sustaining  and  animating  religious 
emotions  and  hopes  in  the  souls  of  men.  The  same  inequality 
of  faculties  and  influence  which  gives  rise  to  power  in  civil  society 
originates  it  equally  in  religious  society.  Missionaries  arise  and 
declare  themselves  Hke  generals.  Thus,  as  on  one  hand  re- 
ligious government  necessaHly  flows  from  the  nature  of  relig- 
ious society,  so  on  the  other  it  naturally  develops  itself  therein  by 
the  mere  efifect  of  the  human  faculties  and  their  unequal  parti- 
tion. Therefore,  from  the  moment  at  which  religion  is  born  in 
man,  religious  society  develops  itself  ;  and  from  the  moment  at 
which  religious  society  appears  it  gives  rise  to  its  government. 

But  now  a  fundamental  objection  arises  :  there  is  nothing  in 
this  case  to  ordain  or  impose  ;  nothing  coercive.  There  is  no 
room  for  government,  since  unlimited  liberty  is  required  to 
exist. 

It  is,  I  conceive,  a  very  rude  and  petty  idea  of  government  in 
general  to  suppose  that  it  resides  solely,  or  even  principally,  in 
the  force  which  it  exerts  to  make  itself  obeyed  in  its  coercive  ele- 
ment. 

I  leave  the  religious  point  of  view  ;  I  take  civil  government. 
I  pray  you  follow  with  me  the  simple  course  of  facts.  The  so- 
ciety exists  :  there  is  something  to  be  done,  no  matter  what,  in 
its  interest  and  name ;  there  is  a  law  to  make,  a  measure  to  take, 
a  judgment  to  pronounce.  Assuredly  there  is  likewise  a  worthy 
manner  of  fulfilling  these  social  wants ;  a  good  law  to  make,  a 
good  measure  to  take,  a  good  judgment  to  pronounce.  What- 
ever may  be  the  matter  in  hand,  whatever  may  be  the  interest  in 
question,  there  is  in  every  case  a  truth  that  must  be  known,  a 
truth  which  must  decide  the  conduct  of  the  question. 

The  first  business  of  government  is  to  seek  this  truth,  to  dis- 
cover what  is  just,  reasonable,  and  adapted  to  society.  When  it 
has  found  it,  it  proclaims  it.  It  becomes  then  necessary  that  it 
should  impress  it  upon  men's  minds  ;  that  the  government 
should  make  itself  approved  of  by  those  upon  whom  it  acts,  that 
it  should  persuade  them  of  its  reasonableness.  Is  there  any- 
thing coercive  in  this?  Assuredly  not.  Now,  suppose  that  the 
truth  which  ought  to  decide  concerning  the  affair,  no  matter 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  75 

what,  suppose  I  say,  that  this  truth  once  discovered  and  pro- 
claimed, immediately  all  understandings  are  convinced,  all  wills 
determined,  that  all  recognize  the  reasonableness  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  spontaneously  obey  it  ;  there  is  still  no  coercion,  there 
is  no  room  for  the  employment  of  force.  Is  it  that  the  govern- 
ment did  not  exist?  Is  it  that,  in  all  this,  there  was  no  govern- 
ment? Evidently  there  was  a  government  and  it  fulfilled  its 
task.  Coercion  comes  then  only  when  the  resistance  of  indi- 
vidual will  occurs,  when  the  idea,  the  proceeding  which  the  gov- 
ernment has  adopted,  does  not  obtain  the  approbation  and  vol- 
untary submission  of  all.  The  government  then  employs  force 
to  make  itself  obeyed  ;  this  is  the  necessary  result  of  human  im- 
perfection, an  imperfection  which  resides  at  once  in  the  govern- 
ing power  and  in  the  society.  There  will  never  be  any  way  of 
completely  avoiding  it;  civil  governments  will  ever  be  com- 
pelled to  have  recourse,  to  a  certain  extent,  to  coercion.  But 
governments  are  evidently  not  constituted  by  coercion  :  when- 
ever they  can  dispense  with  it  they  do,  and  to  the  great  profit  of 
all ;  indeed,  their  highest  perfection  is  to  dispense  with  it,  and  to 
confine  themselves  to  methods  purely  moral,  to  the  action  which 
they  exert  upon  the  understanding  ;  so  that  the  more  the  gov- 
ernment dispenses  with  coercion,  the  more  faithful  it  is  to  its 
true  nature,  the  better  it  fulfills  its  mission.  It  is  not  thereby 
reduced  in  power  or  contracted,  as  is  vulgarly  supposed  ;  it  acts 
only  in  another  manner,  and  in  a  manner  which  is  infinitely 
more  general  and  powerful.  Those  governments  which  make 
the  greatest  use  of  coercion  succeed  not  nearly  so  well  as  those 
which  employ  it  scarcely  at  all. 

In  addressing  itself  to  the  understanding,  in  determining  the 
will,  in  acting  by  purely  intellectual  means,  the  government,  in- 
stead of  reducing,  extends  and  elevates  itself  ;  it  is  then  that  it 
accomplishes  the  most  and  the  greatest  things.  On  the  contrary, 
when  it  is  obliged  incessantly  to  employ  coercion,  it  contracts 
and  lessens  itself,  and  effects  very  little,  and  that  little  very  ill. 

Thus  the  essence  of  government  does  not  reside  in  coercion,  in 
the  employment  of  force  ;  but  that  which  above  all  things  con- 
stitutes it,  is  a  system  of  means  and  powers,  conceived  with  the 
design  of  arriving  at  the  discovery  of  what  is  applicable  to  each 
occasion  ;  at  the  discovery  of  truth,  which  has  a  right  to  rule 
society,  in  order  that  afterward  the  minds  of  men  may  be  brought 
to  open  themselves  to  it,  and  adopt  it  voluntarily  and  freely. 
The  necessity  for,  and  the  actual  existence  of  a  government  are 
thus  perfectly  conceivable,  when  there  is  no  occasion  for  coer- 
cion, when  even  it  is  absolutely  interdicted. 

Well,  such  is  the  government  of  the  religious  society.  Un- 
doubtedly, coercion  is  interdicted  to  it  ;  undoubtedly,  the  em- 
ployment of  force  by  it  is  illegitimate,  whatever  may  be  its  aim, 


76  GUIZOT 

for  the  single  reason  that  its  exclusive  territory  is  the  human  con- 
science :  but  not  less,  therefore,  does  it  subsist  ;  not  the  less 
has  it  to  accomplish  all  the  acts  I  have  mentioned.  It  must  dis- 
cover what  are  the  religious  doctrines  which  solve  the  problems 
of  the  human  destiny  ;  or,  if  there  exists  already  a  general  sys- 
tem of  creeds  whereby  those  problems  are  solved,  it  must  dis- 
cover and  exhibit  the  consequences  of  that  system,  as  regards 
each  particular  case  ;  it  must  promulgate  and  maintain  the  pre- 
cepts which  correspond  to  its  doctrines  ;  it  must  preach  and 
teach  them,  in  order  that,  when  the  society  wanders  from  them, 
it  may  bring  back.  There  must  be  no  coercion  ;  the  duties  of 
this  government  are,  examining,  preaching,  and  teaching  re- 
ligious virtues  ;  and,  at  need,  admonishing  or  censuring.  Sup- 
press coercion  as  completely  as  you  will,  you  will  yet  behold  all 
the  essential  questions  of  the  organization  of  a  government  arise 
and  claim  solutions.  For  example,  the  question  whether  a  body 
of  religious  magistrates  is  necessary,  or  whether  it  is  possible  to 
trust  to  the  religious  inspiration  of  individuals  (a  question  which 
is  debated  between  the  majority  of  religious  societies  and  the 
Quakers),  will  always  exist,  it  will  always  be  necessary  to  discuss 
it.  In  like  manner,  the  question,  whether,  when  it  has  been 
agreed  that  a  body  of  religious  magistrates  is  necessary,  we 
should  prefer  a  system  of  equality,  of  religious  ministers  equal 
among  themselves  and  deliberating  in  common,  to  an  hierarchi- 
cal constitution,  with  various  degrees  of  power;  this  question 
will  never  come  to  an  end,  because  you  deny  all  coercive  power 
to  ecclesiastical  magistrates,  whosoever  they  may  be.  Instead, 
then,  of  dissolving  religious  society  in  order  that  we  may  have 
the  right  of  destroying  religious  government,  we  must  rather 
recognize  that  the  religious  society  forms  itself  naturally,  that 
the  religious  government  flows  as  naturally  from  the  religious 
society,  and  that  the  problem  to  be  solved  is  to  ascertain  under 
what  conditions  this  government  should  exist,  what  are  its  foun- 
dations, principles,  and  conditions  of  legitimacy.  This  is  the 
real  investigation  which  is  imposed  by  the  necessary  existence 
of  a  religious  government  as  of  all  others. 

The  conditions  of  legitimacy  are  the  same  for  the  government 
of  a  religious  society  as  for  that  of  any  other  ;  they  may  be  re- 
duced to  two  :  the  first,  that  the  power  should  attach  itself  to 
and  remain  constantly  in  the  hands  of  the  best  and  most  capable, 
as  far,  at  least,  as  human  imperfection  will  allow  of  its  doing  so  ; 
that  the  truly  superior  people  who  exist  dispersed  among  the 
society  should  be  sought  for  there,  brought  to  light,  and  called 
upon  to  unfold  the  social  law,  and  to  exercise  power ;  the  second 
that  the  power  legitimately  constituted  should  respect  the  legit- 
imate liberties  of  those  over  whom  it  exercises  itself.  In  these 
two  conditions,  a  good  system  of  forming  and  organizing  power, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  77 

and  a  good  system  of  guarantees  of  liberty,  consists  the  worth  of 
government  in  general,  whether  religious  or  civil;  all  govern- 
ments ought  to  be  judged  according  to  this  criterion. 

Instead,  then,  of  taunting  the  church,  or  the  government  of 
the  Christian  world,  with  its  existence,  we  should  find  out  how 
it  was  constituted,  and  whether  its  principles  corresponded  with 
the  two  essential  conditions  of  all  good  government.  Let  us 
examine  the  church  in  this  twofold  view. 

As  regards  the  formation  and  transmission  of  power  in  the 
church,  there  is  a  word  which  is  often  used  in  speaking  of  the 
Christian  clergy,  and  which  I  wish  to  discard;  it  is  the  world 
caste.  The  body  of  ecclesiastical  magistrates  has  often  been 
called  a  caste.  Look  around  the  world;  take  any  country  in 
which  castes  have  been  produced,  in  India  or  Egypt ;  you  will  see 
everywhere  that  the  caste  is  essentially  hereditary;  it  is  the 
transmission  of  the  same  position  and  the  same  power  from 
father  to  son.  Wherever  there  is  no  inheritance  there  is  no 
caste,  there  is  a  corporation ;  the  spirit  of  a  corporation  has  its 
inconveniences,  but  it  is  very  different  from  the  spirit  of  the 
caste.  The  word  caste  cannot  be  applied  to  the  Christian 
church.  The  celibacy  of  the  priests  prevents  the  Christian 
church  from  ever  becoming  a  caste. 

You  already  see,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  consequences  of  this 
difference.  To  the  system  of  caste,  to  the  fact  of  inheritance, 
monopoly  is  inevitably  attached.  This  results  from  the  very 
definition  of  the  word  caste.  When  the  same  functions  and  the 
same  powers  become  hereditary  in  the  same  families,  it  is  evident 
that  privilege  must  have  been  attached  to  them,  and  that  no  one 
could  have  acquired  them  independently  of  his  origin.  In  fact, 
this  was  what  happened;  wherever  the  religious  government 
fell  into  the  hands  of  a  caste  it  became  a  matter  of  privilege;  no 
one  entered  into  it  but  those  who  belonged  to  the  families  of  the 
caste.  Nothing  resembling  this  is  met  with  in  the  Christian 
church;  and  not  only  is  there  no  resemblance  found,  but  the 
church  has  continually  maintained  the  principle  of  the  equal 
admissibility  of  all  men  to  all  her  duties  and  dignities,  whatever 
may  have  been  their  origin.  The  ecclesiastical  career,  particu- 
larly from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  was  open  to  all.  The 
church  recruited  herself  from  all  ranks,  alike  from  the  inferior, 
as  well  as  the  superior;  more  often,  indeed,  from  the  inferior. 
Around  her  all  was  disposed  of  under  the  system  of  privilege ; 
she  alone  maintained  the  principle  of  equality  and  competition; 
she  alone  called  all  who  were  possessed  of  legitimate  superiority 
to  the  possession  of  power.  This  was  the  first  great  consequence 
which  naturally  resulted  from  her  being  a  body,  and  not  a 
caste. 

Again,  there  is  an  inherent  spirit  in  castes,  the  spirit  of  immo- 


78  GUIZOT 

bility.  This  assertion  needs  no  proof.  Open  any  history  and  you 
will  see  the  spirit  of  immobility  imprinted  upon  all  societies, 
whether  political  or  religious,  where  the  system  of  castes  domin- 
ated. The  fear  of  progress,  it  is  true,  was  introduced  at  a  certain 
epoch,  and  up  to  a  certain  point,  in  the  Christian  church.  But 
we  cannot  say  that  it  has  dominated  there;  we  cannot  say  that 
the  Christian  church  has  remained  immovable  and  stationary; 
for  many  long  ages  she  has  been  in  movement  and  progress; 
sometimes  provoked  by  the  attacks  of  an  external  opposition, 
sometimes  impelled  from  within,  by  desires  of  reform  and  inter- 
nal development.  Upon  the  whole  it  is  a  society  which  has  con- 
tinually changed  and  marched  onward,  and  which  has  a  varied 
and  progressive  history.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  equal 
admission  of  all  men  to  the  ecclesiastical  functions,  that  the  con- 
tinued recruiting  of  the  church  according  to  principles  of  equal- 
ity, has  powerfully  contributed  to  maintain,  and  incessantly 
reanimate  within  it,  its  life  and  movement,  to  prevent  the  triumph 
of  the  spirit  of  immobility. 

How  could  the  church,  who  thus  admitted  all  men  to  power, 
assure  herself  of  their  right  to  it?  How  could  she  discover  and 
bring  to  light,  from  the  heart  of  society,  the  legitimate  superior- 
ities which  were  to  share  the  government? 

Two  principles  were  in  vigor  in  the  church :  First,  the  election 
of  the  inferior  by  the  superior — the  choice,  the  nomination; 
second,  the  election  of  the  superior  by  the  subordinates — that 
is,  an  election  properly  so  called,  what  we  understand  as  such 
in  the  present  day. 

The  ordination  of  priests,  for  instance,  the  power  of  making  a 
man  a  priest,  belonged  to  the  superior  alone.  The  choice  was 
exercised  by  the  superior  over  the  inferior.  So,  in  the  collation 
of  certain  ecclesiastical  benefices,  among  others,  benefices 
attached  to  the  feudal  concessions,  it  was  the  superior — king, 
pope,  or  lord — who  nominated  the  incumbent;  in  other  cases, 
the  principle  of  election,  properly  so  called,  was  in  force.  The 
bishops  had  long  been,  and  at  the  epoch  which  occupies  us  were 
still  very  often,  elected  by  the  body  of  the  clergy.  Sometimes 
even  the  congregations  interfered.  In  the  interior  of  monas- 
teries, the  abbot  was  elected  by  the  monks.  At  Rome,  the  popes 
were  elected  by  the  college  of  cardinals,  and  at  one  time  even  the 
whole  of  the  Roman  clergy  took  part  in  the  election.  You  thus 
see  the  two  principles — the  choice  of  the  inferior  by  the  superior, 
and  the  election  of  the  superior  by  the  subordinate — acknowl- 
edged and  acted  upon  in  the  church,  especially  at  the  epoch 
under  consideration.  It  was  by  one  or  other  of  these  means 
that  she  nominated  the  men  called  upon  to  exercise  a  portion 
of  the  ecclesiastical  power. 

Not  only  were  these  two  principles  co-existent,  but  being 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  79 

essentially  different  there  was  a  struggle  between  them.  After 
many  centuries  and  many  vicissitudes  the  nomination  of  the 
inferior  by  the  superior  gained  the  mastery  in  the  Christian 
church;  but  as  a  general  thing,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth 
century,  it  was  the  other  principle,  the  choice  of  the  superior 
by  the  subordinate,  which  still  prevailed.  And  do  not  be  sur- 
prised at  the  co-existence  of  two  principles  so  dissimilar.  Re- 
gard society  in  general,  the  natural  course  of  the  world,  the 
manner  in  which  power  is  transmitted  in  it,  you  will  see  that  this 
transmission  is  brought  into  force  sometimes  according  to  one 
of  these  principles  and  sometimes  according  to  the  other.  The 
church  did  not  originate  them;  she  found  them  in  the  provi- 
dential government  of  human  things,  and  thence  she  borrowed 
them.  There  is  truth  and  utility  in  each  of  them ;  their  combin- 
ation will  often  be  the  best  means  of  discovering  the  legitimate 
power.  It  is  a  great  misfortune,  in  my  opinion,  that  one  of  these 
two,  the  choice  of  the  inferior  by  the  superior,  should  have 
gained  the  mastery  in  the  church;  the  second,  however,  has 
never  entirely  prevailed;  and  under  various  names,  with  more 
or  less  success,  it  has  been  reproduced  in  all  epochs,  so  as  at  all 
events  to  enter  protest  and  interrupt  prescription. 

The  Christian  church  derived,  at  the  epoch  which  occupies 
us,  immense  strength  from  its  respect  for  equality  and  legitimate 
superiorities.  It  was  the  most  popular  society,  the  most  access- 
ible and  open  to  all  kinds  of  talent,  to  all  the  noble  ambitions  of 
human  nature.  Thence  arose  its  power,  much  more  than  from 
its  riches,  or  from  the  illegitimate  means  which  it  has  too  often 
employed. 

As  regards  the  second  condition  of  a  good  government,  re- 
spect for  liberty,  there  was  much  to  wish  for  in  the  church. 

Two  evil  principles  met  in  it;  the  one  avowed,  and,  as  it  were, 
incorporated  in  the  doctrines  of  the  church;  the  other  intro- 
duced into  it  by  human  weakness,  and  not  as  a  legitimate  conse- 
quence of  doctrine. 

The  first  was  the  denial  of  the  right  of  individual  reason,  the 
pretension  to  transmit  creeds  down  through  the  whole  religious 
society,  without  any  one  having  the  right  to  judge  for  himself. 
It  was  easier  to  lay  down  this  principle  than  to  make  it  actually 
prevail.  A  conviction  does  not  enter  into  the  human  intellect 
unless  the  intellect  admits  it;  it  must  make  itself  acceptable.  In 
whatever  form  it  presents  itself,  and  whatever  name  it  evokes, 
reason  weighs  it;  and  if  the  creed  prevail,  it  is  from  being 
accepted  by  reason.  Thus,  under  whatever  form  they  may  be 
concealed,  the  action  of  the  individual  reason  is  always  exerted 
upon  the  ideas  which  are  sought  to  be  imposed  upon  it.  It  is 
very  true  that  reason  may  be  altered;  it  may  to  a  certain  extent 
abdicate  and  mutilate  itself;  it  may  be  induced  to  make  an  ill 


8o  GUIZOT 

use  of  its  faculties,  or  not  to  put  in  force  all  the  use  of  them  to 
which  it  has  a  right;  such,  indeed,  has  been  the  consequence 
of  the  ill  principle  admitted  by  the  church ;  but  as  regards  the 
pure  and  complete  influence  of  this  principle,  it  never  has  been, 
and  never  can  be,  put  into  full  force. 

The  second  evil  principle  is,  the  right  of  constraint  which  the 
church  arrogates  to  herself — a  right  contrary  to  the  very  nature 
of  religious  society,  to  the  very  origin  of  the  church,  and  her 
primitive  maxims — a  right  which  has  been  disputed  by  many 
of  the  most  illustrious  fathers,  St.  Ambrose,  St.  Hilary,  St. 
Martin,  but  which  has,  notwithstanding,  prevailed  and  become  a 
dominant  fact.  The  pretension  of  forcing  to  believe,  if  two  such 
words  can  stand  in  juxtaposition,  or  of  physically  punishing 
belief,  the  persecution  of  heresy,  contempt  for  the  legitimate 
liberty  of  human  thought,  this  is  an  error  which  was  introduced 
into  the  church  even  before  the  fifth  century ;  and  dearly  has  it 
cost  her. 

If,  then,  we  consider  the  church  in  relation  to  the  liberty  of 
her  members,  we  perceive  that  her  principles  in  this  respect 
were  less  legitimate  and  less  salutary  than  those  which  presided 
at  the  formation  of  the  ecclesiastical  power.  It  must  not  be 
supposed,  however,  that  an  evil  principle  radically  vitiates  an 
institution,  nor  even  that  it  is  the  cause  of  all  the  evil  which  it 
carries  in  its  breast.  Nothing  more  falsifies  history  than  logic: 
when  the  human  mind  rests  upon  an  idea,  it  draws  from  it  every 
possible  consequence,  makes  it  produce  all  the  effect  it  is  capable 
of  producing,  and  then  pictures  it  in  history  with  the  whole 
retinue.  But  things  do  not  happen  in  this  way;  events  are  not 
so  prompt  in  their  deductions  as  the  human  mind.  There  is  in 
all  things  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil  so  profound  and  invincible 
that  wherever  you  penetrate,  when  you  descend  into  the  most 
hidden  elements  of  society  or  the  soul,  you  find  there  these  two 
orders  of  existent  facts  developing  themselves  side  by  side,  com- 
bating without  exterminating  one  another.  Human  nature  never 
goes  to  the  extremity  either  of  evil  or  good;  it  passes  incessantly 
from  one  to  the  other,  erecting  itself  at  the  moment  when  it 
seems  most  likely  to  fall,  and  weakening  at  the  moment  when 
its  walk  seems  firmest.  We  shall  find  here  that  character  of 
discordance,  variety  and  strife,  which  I  have  remarked  as  being 
the  fundamental  characteristic  of  European  civilization.  There 
is  still  another  general  fact  which  characterizes  the  government 
of  the  church,  and  of  which  it  is  necessary  to  take  notice. 

At  the  present  day,  when  the  idea  of  government  presents 
itself  to  us,  whatever  it  may  be,  we  know  that  there  is  no  preten- 
sion of  governing  other  than  the  external  actions  of  man — the 
civil  relations  of  men  among  themselves;  governments  profess 
to  apply  themselves  to  nothing  more.    With  regard  to  human 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  8i 

thought,  human  conscience,  and  morality,  properly  so  called, 
with  regard  to  individual  opinions  and  private  manners,  they 
do  not  interfere ;  these  fall  within  the  domain  of  liberty. 

The  Christian  church  did  or  wished  to  do  directly  the  con- 
trary ;  she  undertook  to  govern  the  liberty,  private  manners  and 
opinions  of  individuals.  She  did  not  make  a  code  like  ours,  to 
define  only  actions  at  once  morally  culpable  and  socially  danger- 
ous, and  only  punishing  them  in  proportion  as  they  bore  this 
twofold  character.  She  made  a  catalogue  of  all  actions  morally 
culpable,  and  under  the  name  of  sins  she  punished  all  with  the 
intention  of  repressing  all;  in  a  word,  the  government  of  the 
church  did  not  address  itself,  like  modern  governments,  to  the 
external  man,  to  the  purely  civil  relations  of  men  among  them- 
selves; it  addressed  itself  to  the  internal  man,  to  the  thought  and 
conscience,  that  is  to  say,  to  all  that  is  most  private  to  him,  most 
free  and  rebellious  against  constraint.  The  church  then  from 
the  very  nature  of  her  enterprise,  together  with  the  nature  of 
some  of  the  principles  upon  which  she  founded  her  government, 
was  in  danger  of  becoming  tyrannical  and  of  employing  illegiti- 
mate force.  But  at  the  same  time  the  force  encountered  a  resist- 
ance which  it  could  not  vanquish.  However  little  movement 
and  space  are  left  them,  human  thought  and  liberty  energetically 
react  against  all  attempts  to  subdue  them,  and  at  every  moment 
compel  the  very  despotism  which  they  endure  to  abdicate.  Thus 
it  happened  in  the  bosom  of  the  Christian  church.  You  have 
seen  the  proscription  of  heresy,  the  condemnation  of  the  right 
of  inquiry,  the  contempt  for  individual  reason,  and  the  principle 
of  the  imperative  transmission  of  doctrines  upon  authority. 
Well,  show  one  society  in  which  individual  reason  has  been  more 
boldly  developed  than  in  the  church!  What  are  sects  and 
heresies,  if  they  are  not  the  fruit  of  individual  opinions  ?  Sects 
and  heresies,  all  the  party  of  opposition  in  the  church,  are  the  in- 
contestable proof  of  the  moral  life  and  activity  which  reigned  in 
it ;  a  life  tempestuous  and  painful,  overspread  with  perils,  errors, 
crimes,  but  noble  and  powerful,  and  one  that  has  given  rise  to  the 
finest  developments  of  mind  and  intellect.  Leave  the  oppo- 
sition, look  into  the  ecclesiastical  government  itself;  you  will 
find  it  constituted  and  acting  in  a  manner  very  different  from 
what  some  of  its  principles  seem  to  indicate.  It  denied  the  right 
of  inquiry,  and  wished  to  deprive  individual  reason  of  its  liberty; 
and  yet  it  is  to  reason  that  it  incessantly  appeals,  and  liberty  is 
its  dominant  fact.  What  are  its  institutions  and  means  of  action? 
Provincial  councils,  national  councils,  general  councils,  a  con- 
tinual correspondence,  the  incessant  publication  of  letters, 
admonitions,  and  writings.  Never  did  a  government  pro- 
ceed to  such  an  extent  by  discussion  and  common  deliberation. 
We  might  suppose  ourselves  in  the  heart  of  the  Greek 
6 


82  GUIZOT 

schools  of  philosophy;  and  yet  it  was  no  mere  discussion  or 
seekinj:^  for  truth  that  was  at  issue;  it  involved  questions  of 
authority,  of  adopting  measures,  of  promulgating  decrees;  in 
fine,  of  a  government.  But  such  in  the  very  heart  of  this  gov- 
ernment was  the  energy  of  intellectual  life,  that  it  became  the 
dominant  and  universal  fact,  to  which  all  others  gave  way;  and 
what  shone  forth  on  all  sides  was  the  exercise  of  reason  and 
liberty. 

I  am  far  from  inferring  that  these  bad  principles  which  I  have 
attempted  to  set  forth,  and  which,  in  my  opinion,  existed  in  the 
system  of  the  church,  remained  in  it  without  effect.  At  the  epoch 
which  now  occupies  us,  they  already  bore  but  too  bitter  fruit, 
and  were  destined  at  a  later  period  to  bear  fruit  still  more  bitter; 
but  they  have  not  accomplished  all  the  evil  of  which  they  were 
capable,  they  have  not  stifled  all  the  good  which  grew  in  the 
same  soil.  Such  was  the  church,  considered  in  itself,  in  its 
internal  construction  and  nature.  I  now  pass  to  its  relations 
with  the  sovereigns,  the  masters  of  temporal  power.  This  is  the 
second  point  of  view  under  which  I  promised  to  consider  it. 

When  the  Empire  fell — when,  instead  of  the  ancient  Roman 
system,  the  government,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  church 
had  taken  birth,  with  which  she  had  arisen,  and  had  habits  in 
common  and  ancient  ties,  she  found  herself  exposed  to  those 
barbarian  kings  and  chiefs  who  wandered  over  the  land  or 
remained  fixed  in  their  castles,  and  to  whom  neither  traditions, 
creeds  nor  sentiments  could  unite  her;  her  danger  was  great, 
and  as  great  was  her  terror. 

A  single  idea  became  dominant  in  the  church ;  this  was  to  take 
possession  of  the  new-comers,  to  convert  them.  The  relations 
between  the  church  and  the  barbarians  had,  at  first,  scarcely 
any  other  aim.  In  influencing  the  barbarians  it  was  necessary 
that  their  senses  and  their  imagination  should  be  appealed  to. 
We  therefore  find  at  this  epoch  a  great  augmentation  in  the 
number,  pomp  and  variety  of  the  ceremonies  of  worship.  The 
chronicles  prove  that  this  was  the  chief  means  by  which  the 
church  acted  upon  the  barbarians;  she  converted  them  by 
splendid  spectacles.  When  they  were  established  and  converted, 
and  when  there  existed  some  ties  between  them  and  the  church, 
she  did  not  cease  to  run  many  dangers  on  their  part.  The 
brutality  and  recklessness  of  the  barbarians  were  such  that  the 
new  creeds  and  sentiments  with  which  they  were  inspired  exer- 
cised but  little  empire  over  them.  Violence  soon  reassumed 
the  upper  hand,  and  the  church,  like  the  rest  of  society, 
was  its  victim.  For  her  defence  she  proclaimed  a  principle  for- 
merely  laid  down  under  the  Empire,  although  more  vaguely — 
this  was  the  separation  of  the  spiritual  from  the  temporal  power, 
and  their  reciprocal  independence.     It  was  by  the  aid  of  this 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  83 

principle  that  the  church  Hved  freely  in  connection  with  the 
barbarians;  she  maintained  that  force  could  not  act  upon  the 
system  of  creeds,  hopes,  and  religious  promises ;  that  the  spiritual 
world  and  the  temporal  world  were  entirely  distinct.  You  may  at 
once  see  the  salutary  consequences  resulting  from  this  principle. 
Independently  of  its  temporal  utility  to  the  church,  it  had  this 
inestimable  effect  of  bringing  about,  on  the  foundation  of  right, 
the  separation  of  powers,  and  of  controlling  them  by  means  of 
each  other.  Moreover,  in  sustaining  the  independence  of  the 
intellectual  world,  as  a  general  thing,  in  its  whole  extent,  the 
church  prepared  the  way  for  the  independence  of  the  in- 
dividual intellectual  world — the  independence  of  thought. 
The  church  said  that  the  system  of  religious  creeds  could  not 
fall  under  the  yoke  of  force;  and  each  individual  was  led  to 
apply  to  his  own  case  the  language  of  the  church.  The  prin- 
ciple of  free  inquiry,  of  liberty  of  individual  thought,  is  exactly 
the  same  as  that  of  the  independence  of  general  spiritual  author- 
ity with  regard  to  temporal  power. 

Unhappily,  it  is  easy  to  pass  from  the  desire  for  liberty  to  the 
lust  for  domination.  I  thus  happened  within  the  bosom  of  the 
church;  by  the  natural  development  of  ambition  and  human 
pride,  the  church  attempted  to  establish,  not  only  the  indepen- 
dence of  spiritual  power,  but  also  its  domination  over  temporal 
power.  But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  this  pretension  had 
no  other  source  than  in  the  weaknesses  of  human  nature ;  there 
were  other  more  profound  sources  which  it  is  of  importance  to 
know. 

When  liberty  reigns  in  the  intellectual  world,  when  thought 
and  human  conscience  are  not  subjected  to  a  power  which  dis- 
putes their  right  to  debate  and  decide,  or  employs  force  against 
them ;  when  there  is  no  visible  and  constituted  spiritual  govern- 
ment, claiming  and  exercising  the  right  to  dictate  opinions; 
then  the  idea  of  the  domination  of  the  spiritual  over  the  temporal 
order  is  impossible.  Nearly  such  is  the  present  state  of  the  world. 
But  when  there  exists,  as  there  did  exist  in  the  tenth  century,  a 
government  of  the  spiritual  order;  when  thought  and  conscience 
come  under  laws,  institutions  and  powers  which  arrogate  to 
themselves  the  right  of  commanding  and  constraining  them;  in 
a  word,  when  spiritual  power  is  constituted,  when  it  actually 
takes  possession  of  human  reason  and  conscience  in  the  name 
of  right  and  force,  it  is  natural  that  it  should  be  led  to  assume 
the  domination  over  the  temporal  order,  that  it  should  say: 
"  Now !  I  have  right  and  influence  over  that  which  is  most 
elevated  and  independent  in  man ;  over  his  thought,  his  internal 
will,  and  his  conscience,  and  shall  I  not  have  right  over  his 
exterior,  material  and  passing  interests?  I  am  the  interpreter 
of  justice  and  truth,  and  am  I  not  allowed  to  regulate  worldly 


84  GUIZOT 

affairs  according  to  justice  and  truth?"  In  very  virtue  of  this 
reasoning,  the  spiritual  order  was  sure  to  attempt  the  usurpation 
of  the  temporal  order.  And  this  was  the  more  certain  from  the 
fact  that  the  spiritual  order  embraced  every  development  of 
human  thought  at  that  time;  there  was  but  one  science,  and  that 
was  theology;  but  one  spiritual  order,  the  theological;  all  other 
sciences,  rhetoric,  arithmetic,  even  music,  all  was  comprised  in 
theology.  ^  . 

The  spiritual  power,  thus  finding  itself  at  the  head  of  all  the 
activity  of  human  thought,  naturally  arrogated  to  itself  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  world.  A  second  cause  tended  as  powerfully  to 
this  end — the  frightful  state  of  the  temporal  order,  the  vi.olence 
and  iniquity  which  prevailed  in  the  government  of  temporal 
societies. 

We,  for  many  centuries,  have  spoken  at  our  ease  of  the  rights 
of  temporal  power;  but  at  the  epoch  under  consideration  the 
temporal  was  mere  force,  ungovernable  brigandage.  The 
church,  however  imperfect  her  notions  still  were  concerning 
morality  and  justice,  was  infinitely  superior  to  such  a  temporal 
government  as  this ;  the  cries  of  the  people  continually  pressed 
her  to  take  its  place.  When  a  pope,  or  the  bishops,  proclaimed 
that  a  prince  had  forfeited  his  rights,  and  that  her  subjects  were 
absolved  from  their  oath  of  fidelity,  this  intervention,  without 
doubt  subject  to  various  abuses,  was  often,  in  particular  cases, 
legitimate  and  salutary.  In  general,  when  liberty  has  failed 
mankind,  it  is  religion  that  has  had  the  charge  of  replacing  it. 
In  the  tenth  century  the  people  were  not  in  a  state  to  defend 
themselves,  and  so  make  their  rights  available  against  civil 
violence :  religion,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  interfered.  This  is 
one  of  the  causes  which  have  most  contributed  to  the  victories 
of  the  theocratical  principle. 

There  is  a  third,  which  I  think  is  too  seldom  remarked :  the 
complexity  of  situation  of  the  heads  of  the  church,  the  variety 
of  aspects  under  which  they  have  presented  themselves  in  so- 
ciety. On  one  hand  they  were  prelates,  members  of  the  eccle- 
siastical order,  and  part  of  the  spiritual  power,  and  by  this  title 
independent ;  on  the  other,  they  were  vassals,  and,  as  such,  en- 
gaged in  the  bonds  of  civil  feudalism.  This  is  not  all ;  besides 
being  vassals  they  were  subjects ;  some  portion  of  the  ancient 
relations  between  the  Roman  emperors,  and  the  bishops,  and 
the  clergy,  had  now  passed  into  those  between  the  clergy  and 
the  barbarian  sovereigns.  By  a  series  of  causes,  which  it  would 
be  too  tedious  to  develop,  the  bishops  had  been  led  to  regard, 
up  to  a  certain  point,  the  barbarian  sovereigns  as  the  successors 
of  the  Roman  emperors,  and  to  attribute  to  them  all  their  pre- 
rogatives. The  chiefs  of  the  clergy,  then,  had  a  three-fold 
character:  an  ecclesiastical  character,  and  as  such,  an  inde- 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  85 

pendent  one ;  a  feudal  character,  one  as  such  bound  to  certain 
duties,  and  holding  by  certain  services ;  and,  lastly,  the  charac- 
ter of  a  simple  subject,  and  as  such  bound  to  obey  an  absolute 
sovereign.  Now  mark  the  result.  The  temporal  sovereigns, 
who  were  not  less  covetous  and  ambitious  than  the  bishops, 
availed  themselves  of  their  rights  as  lords  or  sovereigns  to  en- 
croach upon  the  spiritual  independence,  and  to  seize  upon  the 
collation  of  benefices,  the  nomination  of  bishops,  etc.  The 
bishops,  on  their  side,  often  intrenched  themselves  in  their 
spiritual  independence  in  order  to  escape  their  obligations  as 
vassals  or  subjects ;  so  that,  on  either  hand,  there  was  an  almost 
inevitable  tendency  which  led  the  sovereigns  to  destroy  spirit- 
ual independence,  and  the  heads  of  the  church  to  make 
spiritual  independence  a  means  of  universal  domination. 

The  result  has  been  shown  in  facts  of  which  no  one  is  ig- 
norant: in  the  quarrels  concerning  investitures,  and  in  the 
struggle  between  the  priesthood  and  the  empire.  The  various 
situations  of  the  heads  of  the  church,  and  the  difficulty  of  recon- 
ciling them,  were  the  real  sources  of  the  uncertainty  and  con- 
test of  these  pretensions. 

Lastly,  the  church  had  a  third  relation  with  the  sovereigns, 
which  was  for  her  the  least  favorable  and  the  most  unfortunate 
of  them  all.  She  laid  claim  to  co-action,  to  the  right  of  re- 
straining and  punishing  heresy ;  but  she  had  no  means  of  doing 
this;  she  had  not  at  her  disposal  a  physical  force;  when  she  had 
condemned  the  heretic,  she  had  no  means  of  executing  judgment 
upon  him.  What  could  she  do  ?  She  invoked  the  aid  of  what 
was  called  the  secular  arm ;  she  borrowed  the  force  of  civil 
power  as  a  means  of  co-action.  And  she  thereby  placed  her- 
self, in  regard  to  civil  power,  in  a  situation  of  dependence  and 
inferiority.  A  deplorable  necessity  to  which  she  was  reduced 
by  the  adoption  of  the  evil  principle  of  co-action  and  persecu- 
tion. 

It  remains  for  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the  relations 
of  the  church  with  the  people,  what  principles  were  prevalent  in 
them,  and  what  consequences  have  thence  resulted  to  civiliza- 
tion in  general.  I  shall  afterward  attempt  to  verify  the  induc- 
tions we  have  here  drawn  from  the  nature  of  its  institutions  and 
principles,  by  means  of  history,  facts,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
destiny  of  the  church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century. 


SIXTH    LECTURE. 

WE  were  unable,  at  our  last  meeting,  to  terminate  the  in- 
quiry into  the  state  of  the  church  from  the  fifth  to  the 
twelfth  century.  After  having  decided  that  it  should 
be  considered  under  three  principal  aspects,  first,  in  itself  alone, 
in  its  internal  constitution,  and  in  its  nature  as  a  distinct  and  in- 
dependent society;  next,  in  its  relations  to  the  sovereign  and 
the  temporal  power;  and  lastly,  in  its  relations  with  the  people, 
we  have  only  accomplished  the  two  first  divisions  of  this  task. 
It  now  remains  for  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the 
church  in  its  relations  with  the  people.  I  shall  afterward  en- 
deavor to  draw  from  this  threefold  inquiry  a  general  idea  of  the 
influence  of  the  church  upon  European  civilization  from  the 
fifth  to  the  twelfth  century.  And  lastly,  we  will  verify  our  as- 
sertions by  an  examination  of  the  facts,  by  the  history  of  the 
church  itself  at  that  epoch. 

You  will  easily  understand  that,  in  speaking  of  the  relations 
of  the  church  with  the  people,  I  am  forced  to  confine  myself  to 
very  general  terms.  I  cannot  enter  into  a  detail  of  the  prac- 
tices of  the  church,  or  of  the  daily  relations  of  the  clergy  with  the 
faithful.  It  is  the  dominant  principles  and  grand  effects  of  the 
system  and  of  the  conduct  of  the  church  toward  the  Christian 
people,  that  I  have  to  place  before  you. 

The  characteristic  fact,  and,  it  must  so  be  called,  the  radical 
vice  of  the  relations  of  the  church  with  the  people,  is  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  governing  and  the  governed,  the  non-influence  of 
the  governed  in  their  government,  the  independence  of  the 
Christian  clergy  with  regard  to  the  faithful. 

This  evil  must  have  been  provoked  by  the  state  of  man  and 
of  society,  for  we  find  it  introduced  into  the  Christian  church  at 
a  very  early  period.  The  separation  of  the  clergy  and  the 
Christian  people  was  not  entirely  consummated  at  the  epoch 
under  consideration ;  there  was,  on  certain  occasions,  in  the 
election  of  bishops  for  instance,  at  least  in  some  cases,  a  direct 
intervention  of  the  Christian  people  in  its  government.  But 
this  intervention  became  by  degrees  more  weak  and  of  more 
rare  occurrence ;  it  was  from  the  second  century  of  our  era  that 
it  begun  visibly  and  rapidly  to  decline.  The  tendency  to  the 
isolation  and  independence  of  the  clergy  is,  in  a  measure,  the 
history  of  the  church  itself  from  its  very  cradle.     From  thence, 

86 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  $7 

it  cannot  be  denied,  arose  the  greater  portion  of  those  abuses 
which,  at  this  epoch,  and  still  more  at  a  later  period,  have  cost 
so  dear  to  the  church.  We  must  not,  however,  impute  them 
solely  to  this,  nor  regard  this  tendency  to  isolation  as  peculiar 
to  the  Christian  clergy.  There  is  in  the  very  nature  of  religious 
society  a  strong  inclination  to  raise  the  governing  far  above  the 
governed,  to  attribute  to  the  former  something  distinct  and  di- 
vine. This  is  the  effect  of  the  very  mission  with  which  they  are 
charged,  and  of  the  character  under  which  they  present  them- 
selves to  the  eyes  of  people,  and  such  an  effect  is  more  griev- 
ous in  the  religious  society  than  in  any  other.  What  is  it  that 
is  at  stake  with  the  governed?  Their  reason,  their  conscience, 
their  future  destiny — that  is  to  say,  all  that  is  most  near  to  them, 
most  individual,  and  most  free.  We  can  conceive,  to  a  certain 
point,  that  although  great  evil  may  result  therefrom,  a  man 
may  abandon  to  an  external  authority  the  direction  of  his  mate- 
rial interests,  and  his  temporal  destiny.  We  can  understand 
the  philosopher,  who,  when  they  came  to  tell  him  that  his  house 
was  on  fire,  answered,  ''Go  and  inform  my  wife;  I  do  not 
meddle  in  the  household  affairs."  But,  when  it  extends 
to  the  conscience,  the  thought  and  the  internal  existence, 
to  the  abdication  of  self-government,  to  the  delivering  one's 
self  to  a  foreign  power,  it  is  truly  a  moral  suicide,  a  servi- 
tude a  hundred-fold  worse  than  that  of  the  body,  or  than 
that  of  the  soul.  Such,  however,  was  the  evil  which,  with- 
out prevailing  entirely,  as  I  shall  immediately  show,  gradu- 
ally usurped  the  Christian  church  in  its  relations  with  the 
faithful.  You  have  already  seen  that,  for  the  clergy  them- 
selves, and  in  the  very  heart  of  the  church,  there  was  no 
guarantee  for  liberty.  It  was  far  worse  beyond  the  church  and 
among  the  laity.  Among  ecclesiastics,  there  was,  at  least,  dis- 
cussion, deliberation  and  a  display  of  individual  faculties ;  there 
the  excitement  of  contest  supplied,  in  some  measure,  the  want 
of  liberty.  There  was  none  of  this  between  the  clergy  and  the 
people.  The  laity  took  part  in  the  government  of  the  church 
as  mere  spectators.  Thus  we  see  springing  up  and  prevailing 
at  a  very  early  period,  the  idea  that  theology  and  religious  ques- 
tions and  affairs  are  the  privileged  domain  of  the  clergy ;  that 
the  clergy  alone  have  the  right,  not  only  of  deciding,  but  of 
taking  part  tfierein  at  all ;  that  in  any  case  the  laity  can  have  no 
kind  of  right  to  interfere.  At  the  period  under  consideration 
this  theory  was  already  in  full  power;  centuries  and  terrible 
revolutions  were  necessary  to  conquer  it,  to  bring  back  within 
the  public  domain  religious  questions  and  science. 

In  the  principle,  then,  as  well  as  in  fact,  the  legal  separation 
of  the  clergy  and  the  Christian  people  was  almost  consum- 
mated before  the  twelfth  century. 


88  GUIZOT 

I  would  not  have  you  suppose,  however,  that  even  at  this 
epoch  the  Christian  people  were  entirely  without  influence  in  its 
government.  The  legal  intervention  was  wanting,  but  not  in- 
fluence— that  is  almost  impossible  in  any  government,  still  more 
so  in  a  government  founded  upon  a  belief  common  both  to  the 
governing  and  the  governed.  Wherever  this  community  of 
ideas  is  developed,  or  wherever  a  similar  intellectual  move- 
ment prevails  with  the  government  and  the  people,  there  must 
necessarily  exist  a  connection  between  them  which  no  vice  in 
the  organization  can  entirely  destroy.  To  explain  myself  clearly 
I  will  take  an  example  near  to  us,  and  from  the  political  order : 
at  no  epoch  in  the  history  of  France  has  the  French  people  had 
less  legal  influence  on  its  government,  by  means  of  institutions, 
than  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  under  Louis 
XIV  and  Louis  XV. 

No  one  is  ignorant  that  at  this  period  nearly  all  official  and 
direct  influence  of  the  country  in  the  exercise  of  authority  had 
perished;  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  people  and  the 
country  then  exercised  upon  the  government  far  more  influence 
than  in  other  times — in  the  times,  for  instance,  when  the  states- 
general  were  so  often  convoked,  when  the  parliament  took  so 
important  a  part  in  politics,  and  when  the  legal  participation 
of  the  people  in  power  was  much  greater. 

It  is  because  there  is  a  force  which  cannot  be  inclosed  by 
laws,  which,  when  need  is,  can  dispense  with  institutions:  it  is 
the  force  of  ideas,  of  the  public  mind  and  opinion.  In  France, 
in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  there  was  a  public 
opinion  which  was  much  more  powerful  than  at  any  other 
epoch.  Although  deprived  of  the  means  of  acting  legally  upon 
the  government,  it  acted  indirectly  by  the  empire  of  ideas,  which 
were  common  alike  to  the  governing  and  the  governed,  and 
by  the  impossibility  which  the  governing  felt  of  taking  no  note 
of  the  opinion  of  the  governed.  A  similar  fact  happened  in  the 
Christian  church  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century ;  the  Chris- 
tian people,  it  is  true,  were  deficient  in  legal  action,  but  there 
was  a  great  movement  of  mind  in  religious  matters — this  move- 
ment brought  the  laity  and  the  ecclesiastics  into  conjunction, 
and  by  this  means  the  people  influenced  the  clergy. 

In  all  cases  in  the  study  of  history  it  is  necessary  to  hold  as 
highly  valuable,  indirect  influences ;  they  are  much  more  effi- 
cacious, and  sometimes  more  salutary,  than  is  generally  sup- 
posed. It  is  natural  that  men  should  wish  their  actions  to  be 
prompt  and  evident,  should  desire  the  pleasure  of  participating 
in  their  success,  power  and  triumph.  This  is  not  always  pos- 
sible, not  always  even  useful.  There  are  times  and  situations 
in  which  indirect  and  unseen  influences  arc  alone  desirable  and 
practicable.      I  will  take  another  example  from  the  political 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  89 

order.  More  than  once,  especially  in  1641,  the  English  parlia- 
ment, like  many  other  assemblies  in  similar  crisis,  has  claimed 
the  right  of  nominating  directly  the  chief  officers  of  the  crown, 
the  ministers,  councillors  of  state,  etc. ;  it  regarded  this  direct 
action  in  the  government  as  an  immense  and  valuable  guaran- 
tee. It  has  sometimes  exercised  this  prerogative,  and  always 
with  bad  success.  The  selections  were  ill  concerted,  and  affairs 
ill  governed.  But  how  is  it  in  England  at  the  present  day? 
Is  It  not  the  influence  of  parliament  which  decides  the  formation 
of  the  ministry,  and  the  nomination  of  all  the  great  officers  of 
the  crown?  Certainly;  but  then  it  is  an  indirect  and  gen- 
eral influence,  instead  of  a  special  intervention.  The  end 
at  which  England  has  long  aimed  is  gained;  but  by  differ- 
ent means ;  the  first  means  which  were  tried  had  never  acted 
beneficially. 

There  is  a  reason  for  this,  concerning  which  I  ask  your  per- 
mission to  detain  you  for  a  moment.  Direct  action  supposes, 
in  those  to  which  it  is  confided,  far  more  enlightenment,  reason 
and  prudence ;  as  they  are  to  attain  the  end  at  once,  and  with- 
out delay,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  be  certain  of  not  miss- 
ing that  end.  Indirect  influences,  on  the  contrary,  are  only 
exercised  through  obstacles,  and  after  tests  which  restrain  and 
rectify  them ;  before  prospering,  they  are  condemned  to  un- 
dergo discussion,  and  to  see  themselves  opposed  and  controlled ; 
they  triumph  but  slowly,  and,  in  a  measure,  conditionally.  For 
this  reason,  when  minds  are  not  sufficiently  advanced  and 
ripened  to  guarantee  their  direct  action  being  taken  with  safety, 
indirect  influences,  although  often  insufficient,  are  still  prefer- 
able. It  was  thus  that  the  Christian  people  influenced  their 
government,  very  incompletely,  in  much  too  limited  an  extent, 
I  am  convinced — but  still  they  influenced  it. 

There  was  also  another  cause  of  approximation  between  the 
church  and  the  people ;  this  was  the  dispersion,  so  to  speak,  of 
the  Christian  clergy  among  all  social  conditions.  Almost 
everywhere,  when  a  church  has  been  constituted  independently 
of  the  people  whom  it  governed,  the  body  of  priests  has  been 
formed  of  men  nearly  in  the  same  situation ;  not  that  great  ine- 
qualities have  not  existed  among  them,  but  upon  the  whole  the 
government  has  appertained  to  colleges  of  priests  living  in  com- 
mon, and  governing,  from  the  depths  of  the  temple,  the  people 
under  their  law.  The  Christian  church  was  quite  differently  or- 
ganized. From  the  miserable  habitation  of  the  serf,  at  the  foot 
of  the  feudal  castle,  to  the  king's  palace  itself,  everywhere  there 
was  a  priest,  a  member  of  the  clergy.  The  clergy  was  associated 
with  all  human  conditions.  This  diversity  in  the  situation  of 
the  Christian  priests,  this  participation  in  all  fortunes,  has  been 
a  grand  principle  of  union  between  the  clergy  and  the  laity,  a 


90 


GUIZOT 


principle  which  has  been  wanting  in  most  churches  invested 
with  power.  The  bishops  and  chiefs  of  the  Christian  clergy 
were,  moreover,  as  you  have  been,  engaged  in  the  feudal  organ- 
ization, and  were  members,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  of  a  civil 
and  of  an  ecclesiastical  hierarchy.  Hence  it  was  that  the  same 
interests,  habits  and  manners,  became  common  to  both  the  civil 
and  religious  orders.  There  has  been  much  complaint,  and 
with  good  reason,  of  bishops  who  have  gone  to  war,  of 
priests  who  have  led  the  life  of  laymen.  Of  a  verity,  it  was  a 
great  abuse,  but  still  an  abuse  far  less  grievous  than  was,  else- 
where, the  existence  of  those  priests  who  never  left  the  temple, 
and  whose  life  was  totally  separated  from  that  of  the  community. 
Bishops,  in  some  way  mixed  up  in  civil  discords,  were  far  more 
serviceable  than  the  priests  who  were  total  strangers  to  the 
population,  to  all  its  affairs  and  its  manners.  Under  this  con- 
nection there  was  established  between  the  clergy  and  the  Chris- 
tian people  a  parity  of  destiny  and  situation,  which,  if  it  did  not 
correct,  at  least  lessened  the  evil  of  the  separation  between  the 
governing  and  the  governed. 

This  separation  being  once  admitted,  and  its  limits  deter- 
mined (the  attainment  of  which  object  I  have  just  attempted), 
let  us  investigate  the  manner  in  which  the  Christian  church  was 
governed,  and  in  what  way  it  acted  upon  the  people  under  its 
command.  On  the  one  hand,  how  it  tended  to  the  develop- 
ment of  man,  and  the  internal  progress  of  the  individual ;  and 
on  the  other,  how  it  tended  to  the  amelioration  of  the  social 
condition. 

As  regards  the  development  of  the  individual,  I  do  not  think, 
correctly  speaking,  that,  at  the  epoch  under  consideration,  the 
church  troubled  itself  much  in  the  matter ;  it  endeavored  to  in- 
spire the  powerful  of  the  world  with  milder  sentiments,  and 
with  more  justice  in  their  relations  with  the  weak  ;  it  maintained 
in  the  weak  a  moral  life,  together  with  sentiments  and  desires 
of  a  more  elevated  order  than  those  to  which  their  daily  destiny 
condemned  them.  Still,  for  the  development  of  the  individual, 
properly  so  called,  and  for  increasing  the  worth  of  man's  per- 
sonal nature,  I  do  not  think  that  at  this  period  the  church  did 
much,  at  all  events  not  among  the  laity.  What  it  did  effect  was 
confined  to  the  ecclesiastical  society;  it  concerned  itself  much 
with  the  development  of  the  clergy,  and  the  instruction  of  the 
priests;  it  had  for  them  schools,  and  all  the  institutions  which 
the  deplorable  state  of  society  permitted.  But  they  were  ec- 
clesiastical schools  destined  only  for  the  instruction  of  the 
clergy;  beyond  this,  the  church  acted  only  indirectly  and  by 
very  dilatory  means  upon  the  progress  of  ideas  and  manners. 
It  doubtless  provoked  general  activity  of  mind,  by  the  career 
which  it  opened  to  all  those  whom  it  judged  capable  of  serving 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  91 

it ;  but  this  was  all  that  it  did  at  this  period  toward  the  intellec- 
tual development  of  the  laity. 

It  worked  more,  I  believe,  and  that  in  a  more  efficacious  man- 
ner, toward  the  amelioration  of  social  society.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  it  struggled  resolutely  against  the  great  vices  of 
the  social  state,  against  slavery,  for  instance.  It  has  often  been 
repeated,  that  the  abolition  of  slavery  among  modern  people 
is  entirely  due  to  Christians.  That,  I  think,  is  saying  too 
much ;  slavery  existed  for  a  long  period  in  the  heart  of  Christian 
society  without  it  being  particularly  astonished  or  irritated.  A 
multitude  of  causes,  and  a  great  development  in  other  ideas  and 
principles  of  civilization  were  necessary  for  the  abolition  of  this 
iniquity  of  all  iniquities.  It  cannot  be  doubted,  however,  that  the 
church  exerted  its  influence  to  restrain  it.  We  have  an  un- 
deniable proof  of  this.  The  greater  part  of  the  forms  of  en- 
franchisement, at  various  epochs,  were  based  upon  religious 
principles ;  it  is  in  the  name  of  religious  ideas,  upon  hopes  of 
the  future,  and  upon  the  religious  equality  of  mankind,  that  en- 
franchisement has  almost  always  been  pronounced. 

The  church  worked  equally  for  the  suppression  of  a  crowd 
of  barbarous  customs,  and  for  the  amelioration  of  the  criminal 
and  civil  legislation.  You  know  how  monstrous  and  absurd 
this  legislation  then  was,  despite  some  principles  of  liberty  in  it ; 
you  also  know  what  ridiculous  proofs,  such  as  judicial  combat, 
and  even  the  simple  oaths  of  a  few  men,  were  considered  as  the 
only  means  of  arriving  at  the  truth.  The  church  endeavored 
to  substitute  in  their  stead  more  rational  and  legitimate  means. 
I  have  already  spoken  of  the  difference  which  may  be  observed 
between  the  laws  of  the  Visigoths,  issued  chiefly  from  the  coun- 
cils of  Toledo,  and  other  barbarous  laws.  It  is  impossible  to 
compare  them  without  being  struck  by  the  immense  superiority 
of  the  ideas  of  the  church  in  matters  of  legislation,  justice  and  in 
all  that  interests  the  search  for  truth  and  the  destiny  of  man- 
kind. Doubtless  many  of  these  ideas  were  borrowed  from  the 
Roman  legislation ;  but  had  not  the  church  preserved  and  de- 
fended them,  if  it  had  not  worked  their  propagation,  they  would, 
doubtless,  have  perished.  For  example,  as  regards  the  em- 
ployment of  the  oath  in  legal  procedure,  open  the  law  of  the 
Visigoths  and  you  will  see  with  what  wisdom  it  is  used: 

"  Let  the  judge,  that  he  may  understand  the  cause,  first  in- 
terrogate the  witnesses,  and  afterward  examine  the  writings, 
to  the  end  that  the  truth  may  be  discovered  with  more  certainty, 
and  that  the  oath  may  not  be  needlessly  administered.  The 
search  for  truth  requires  that  the  writings  on  either  side  be  care- 
fully examined,  and  that  the  necessity  for  the  oath,  suspended 
over  the  heads  of  the  parties,  arrive  unexpectedly.  Let  the 
oath  be  administered  only  in  those  cases  when  the  judge  can 


92  GUIZOT 

discover  no  writings,  proof,  or  other  certain  evidence  of  the 
truth/'     {For.  Jnd.  1.  ii.  tit.  i.  21.) 

In  criminal  matters  the  relation  between  the  punishments  and 
the  offences  is  determined  according  to  philosophical  and  moral 
notions,  which  are  very  just.  One  may  there  recognize 
the  efforts  of  an  enlightened  legislator  struggling  against  the 
violence  and  want  of  reflection  of  barbarous  manners.  The 
chapter,  De  ccede  et  morte  hominum,  compared  with  laws  corre- 
sponding thereto  in  other  nations,  is  a  very  remarkable  ex- 
ample. Elsewhere  it  is  the  damage  done  which  seems  to  con- 
stitute the  crime,  and  the  punishment  is  sought  in  the  material 
reparation  of  pecuniary  composition.  Here  the  crime  is  re- 
duced to  its  true,  veritable  and  moral  element,  the  intention. 
The  various  shades  of  criminality,  absolutely  involuntary  hom- 
icide, homicide  by  inadvertency,  provoked  homicide,  homicide 
with  or  without  premeditation,  are  distinguished  and  defined 
nearly  as  correctly  as  in  our  codes,  and  the  punishments  vary  in 
just  proportion.  The  justice  of  the  legislator  went  still  further. 
He  has  attempted,  if  not  to  abolish,  at  least  to  lessen  the  diver- 
sity of  legal  value  established  among  men  by  the  laws  of  bar- 
barism. The  only  distinction  which  he  kept  up  was  that  of  the 
free  man  and  the  slave.  As  regards  free  men,  the  punishment 
varies  neither  according  to  the  origin  nor  the  rank  of  the  de- 
ceased, but  solely  according  to  the  various  degrees  of  moral  cul- 
pability of  the  murderer.  With  regard  to  slaves,  although  not 
daring  to  deprive  the  master  of  all  right  to  life  and  death,  he  at 
least  attempted  to  restrain  it  by  subjecting  it  to  a  public  and 
regular  procedure.     The  text  of  the  law  deserves  citation : 

*Tf  no  malefactor  or  accomplice  in  a  crime  should  go  unpun- 
ished, with  how  much  more  reason  should  we  condemn  those 
who  have  committed  homicide  lightly  and  maliciously !  There- 
fore, as  masters,  in  their  pride,  often  put  their  slaves  to  death, 
without  fault  on  their  part,  it  is  right  that  this  license  should  be 
entirely  extirpated,  and  we  ordain  that  the  present  law  be  per- 
petually observed  by  all.  No  master  or  mistress  can  put  to 
death  without  public  trial  any  of  their  male  or  female  slaves, 
nor  any  person  dependent  upon  them.  If  a  slave,  or  any  other 
servant,  shall  commit  any  crime  which  will  render  him  liable  to 
capital  punishment,  his  master,  or  accuser,  shall  immediately 
inform  the  judge,  or  the  count,  or  the  duke,  of  the  place  where 
the  crime  was  committed.  After  an  investigation  into  the 
affair,  if  the  crime  be  proved,  let  the  culprit  undergo,  either 
through  the  judge  or  his  own  master,  the  sentence  of  death 
which  he  merits :  provided,  however,  that  if  the  judge  will  not 
put  the  accused  to  death,  he  shall  draw  up  a  capital  sentence 
against  him  in  writing ;  and  then  it  shall  be  in  the  power  of  the 
master  either  to  kill  him  or  spare  his  life.    At  the  same  time, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  93 

if  the  slave,  by  a  fatal  audacity,  resisting  his  master,  shall  strike, 
or  attempt  to  strike,  him  with  a  weapon  or  stone,  and  if  the 
master,  while  defending  himself,  should  kill  the  slave  in  his 
rage,  the  master  shall  not  receive  the  punishment  due  to  a 
homicide ;  but  it  must  be  proved  that  this  really  was  the  fact, 
and  that,  by  the  testimony  or  oath  of  the  slaves,  male  or  female, 
who  may  have  been  present,  and  by  the  oath  of  the  author  of 
the  deed  himself.  Whoever,  in  pure  malice,  whether  with  his 
own  hand  or  by  that  of  another,  shall  kill  his  slave  without 
public  judgment,  shall  be  reckoned  infamous  and  declared  in- 
capable of  bearing  testimony,  and  shall  pass  the  remainder  of 
his  life  in  exile  or  penitence,  and  his  goods  shall  fall  to  his  near- 
est heir  to  whom  the  law  accords  the  inheritance."  (For,  Jud.  1. 
vi.  tit.  V.  1.  12.) 

There  is  one  fact  in  the  institutions  of  the  church  which  is 
generally  not  sufficiently  remarked;  it  is  the  penitential  system,  a 
system  so  much  the  more  curious  to  study  in  the  present  day  from 
its  being,  as  regards  the  principles  and  applications  of  the  penal 
law,  exactly  in  accordance  with  the  ideas  of  modern  philosophy. 
If  you  study  the  nature  of  the  punishments  of  the  church,  and 
the  public  penances  which  were  its  principal  mode  of  chastise- 
ment, you  will  see  that  the  chief  object  is  to  excite  repentance 
in  the  soul  of  the  culprit  and  moral  terror  in  the  beholders  by 
the  example.  There  was  also  another  idea  mixed  with  it,  that 
of  expiation.  I  know  not,  as  a  general  thing,  if  it  be  possible 
to  separate  the  idea  of  expiation  from  that  of  punishment,  and 
whether  there  is  not  in  all  punishment,  independently  of  the 
necessity  of  provoking  repentance  in  the  culprit  and  of  de- 
terring those  who  might  be  tempted  to  become  so,  a  secret  and 
imperious  want  to  expiate  the  wrong  committed.  But,  leav- 
ing aside  this  question,  it  is  evident  that  repentance  and  ex- 
ample are  the  ends  proposed  by  the  church  in  its  whole  peni- 
tential system.  Is  not  this  also  the  end  of  a  truly  philosophical 
legislation?  Is  it  not  in  the  name  of  these  principles  that  the  most 
enlightened  jurists  of  this  and  the  past  century  have  advocated 
the  reform  of  the  European  penal  legislation?  Open  their 
works,  those  of  Bentham,  for  instance,  and  you  will  be  surprised 
by  all  the  resemblances  which  you  will  meet  with  between  the 
penal  means  therein  proposed  and  those  employed  by  the 
church.  They  certainly  did  not  borrow  them  from  her,  nor 
could  she  have  foreseen  that  one  day  her  example  would  be  in- 
voked to  aid  the  plans  of  the  least  devout  of  philosophers. 
Lastly,  she  strove  by  all  sorts  of  means  to  restrain  violence  and 
continual  warfare  in  society.  Every  one  knows  what  was  the 
truce  of  God,  and  numerous  measures  of  a  similar  kind,  by  which 
the  church  struggled  against  the  employment  of  force  and 
strove  to  introduce  more  order  and  gentleness  into  society. 


94 


GUIZOT 


These  facts  are  so  well  known  that  it  is  needless  for  me  to  enter 
into  details.  Such  are  the  principal  points  which  I  have  to 
place  before  you  concerning  the  relations  between  the  church 
and  the  people.  We  have  considered  it  under  the  three  aspects 
which  I  first  announced ;  and  have  gained  an  inward  and  out- 
ward knowledge  of  it,  both  in  its  internal  constitution  and  its 
two-fold  position.  It  now  remains  for  us  to  deduct  from  our 
knowledge,  by  means  of  induction  and  conjecture,  its  general 
influence  upon  European  civilization.  This,  if  I  mistake  not, 
is  a  work  almost  completed,  or  at  least  far  advanced;  the  simple 
announcement  of  the  dominant  facts  and  principles  in  the 
church  show  and  explain  its  influence ;  the  results  have,  in  some 
measure,  already  passed  before  your  eyes  with  the  causes.  If, 
however,  we  attempt  to  recapitulate  them,  we  shall,  I  think,  be 
led  to  two  general  assertions. 

The  first  is,  that  the  church  must  have  exercised  a  very  great 
influence  upon  the  moral  and  intellectual  orders  in  modem 
Europe,  upon  public  ideas,  sentiments  and  manners. 

The  fact  is  evident;  the  moral  and  intellectual  development 
of  Europe  has  been  essentially  theological.  Survey  history 
from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  centuries;  it  is  theology  that  pos- 
sessed and  directed  the  human  spirit ;  all  opinions  are  impressed 
by  theology;  philosophical,  political  and  historical  questions 
are  all  considered  under  a  theological  point  of  view.  So  all- 
powerful  is  the  church  in  the  intellectual  order,  that  even  the 
mathematical  and  physical  sciences  are  held  in  su])mission  to 
its  doctrines.  The  theological  spirit  is,  in  a  manner,  the  blood 
which  ran  in  the  veins  of  the  European  world,  down  to  Bacon 
and  Descartes.  For  the  first  time.  Bacon  in  England  and 
Descartes  in  France  carried  intelligence  beyond  the  path  of 
theology. 

The  same  fact  is  evident  in  all  branches  of  literature ;  theo- 
logical habits,  sentiments  and  language  are  manifest  at  every 
step. 

Upon  the  whole,  this  influence  has  been  salutary ;  not  only 
has  it  sustained  and  fertilized  the  intellectual  movement  in 
Europe,  but  the  system  of  doctrines  and  precepts,  under  the 
name  of  which  it  implanted  the  movement,  was  far  superior  to 
anything  with  which  the  ancient  world  was  acquainted.  There 
was  at  the  same  time  movement  and  progress. 

The  situation  of  the  church,  moreover,  gave  an  extent  and  a 
variety  to  the  development  of  the  human  mind  in  the  modern 
world  which  it  had  not  possessed  previously.  In  the  cast,  in- 
tellect is  entirely  religious;  in  Greek  society,  it  is  exclusively 
human ;  in  the  one,  humanity,  properly  so  called — that  is,  its 
actual  nature  and  destiny,  vanishes ;  in  the  other,  it  is  man 
himself,  his  actual  passions,  sentiments  and  interests  which  oc- 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  95 

cupy  the  whole  stage.  In  the  modern  world,  the  religious 
spirit  is  mixed  up  with  everything,  but  it  excludes  nothing. 
Modern  intellect  has  at  once  the  stamp  of  humanity  and  of 
divinity.  Human  sentiments  and  interests  occupy  an  impor- 
tant place  in  our  literature ;  and  yet  the  religious  character  of 
man,  that  portion  of  his  existence  which  links  him  to  another 
world,  appears  in  every  step;  so  that  the  two  great  sources  of 
man's  development — humanity  and  religion — have  flowed  at 
one  time,  and  that  abundantly;  and  despite  all  the  evil  and 
abuses  with  which  it  is  mixed,  despite  many  acts  of  tyranny, 
regarded  in  an  intellectual  point  of  view,  the  influence  of  the 
church  has  tended  more  to  develop  than  compress,  more  to  ex- 
tend than  to  confine. 

Under  a  political  point  of  view,  it  is  otherwise.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  in  softening  sentiments  and  manners,  in  crying 
down  and  exploding  numerous  barbarous  customs,  the  church 
has  powerfully  contributed  to  the  amelioration  of  the  social 
state;  but  in  the  political  order,  properly  so  called,  as  regards  the 
relations  between  the  government  and  the  subject,  between 
power  and  liberty,  I  do  not  think  that,  upon  the  whole,  her  in- 
fluence has  been  beneficial.  Under  this  relation,  the  church 
has  always  presented  itself  as  the  interpreter  and  defender  of 
two  systems,  the  theocratic  or  the  Roman  Imperial  system — 
that  is,  of  despotism,  sometimes  under  a  religious,  and  some- 
times under  a  civil  form.  Take  all  her  institutions,  and  all  her 
legislation ;  take  her  canons  and  procedure  ;  and  you  will  always 
find,  as  the  dominant  principle,  theocracy  or  the  empire.  If 
weak,  the  church  sheltered  herself  under  the  absolute  power  of 
the  emperors;  if  strong,  she  claimed  the  same  absolutism  on 
her  own  account  in  the  name  of  her  spiritual  power.  We  must 
not  confine  ourselves  to  particular  facts  or  special  instances. 
The  church  has,  doubtless,  often  invoked  the  rights  of  the 
people  against  the  bad  government  of  the  sovereigns  ;  and  often 
even  approved  of  and  provoked  insurrection ;  has  often  main- 
tained, in  the  face  of  the  sovereign,  the  rights  and  interests  of 
the  people.  But  when  the  question  of  political  guarantees  has 
arisen  between  power  and  liberty,  when  the  question  was  of  es- 
tablishing a  system  of  permanent  institutions,  which  might 
truly  place  liberty  beyond  the  invasions  of  power,  the  church 
has  generally  ranged  upon  the  side  of  despotism. 

One  need  not  be  much  astonished  at  this,  nor  charge  the 
clergy  with  too  great  a  degree  of  human  weakness,  nor  suppose 
it  a  vice  peculiar  to  the  Christian  church.  There  is  a  more 
profound  and  powerful  cause.  What  does  a  religion  pretend 
to  ?  It  pretends  to  govern  the  human  passions  and  the  human 
will.  All  religion  is  a  restraint,  a  power,  a  government.  It 
comes  in  the  name  of  divine  law  for  the  purpose  of  subduing 


96  GUIZOT 

human  nature.  It  is  human  Hberty,  then,  with  which  it  chiefly 
concerns  itself;  it  is  human  liberty  which  resists  it,  and  which 
it  wishes  to  overcome.  Such  is  the  enterprise  of  religion,  such 
its  mission  and  its  hope. 

It  is  true,  that  although  human  liberty  is  what  religions  con- 
cern themselves  with,  although  they  aspire  to  the  reformation 
of  the  will  of  man,  they  have  no  moral  means  of  acting  upon 
him  but  through  himself,  by  his  own  will.  When  they  act  by 
external  means,  by  force,  seduction,  or  any  means,  in  fact,  which 
are  foreign  to  the  free  concurrence  of  man,  when  they  treat 
him  as  they  would  water  or  wind,  as  a  material  power,  they  do 
not  attain  their  end,  they  neither  reach  nor  govern  the  human 
will.  For  religions  to  accomplish  what  they  attempt,  they  must 
make  themselves  acceptable  to  liberty  itself;  it  is  needful  that 
man  should  submit,  but  he  must  do  so  voluntarily  and  freely,  and 
must  preserve  his  liberty  in  the  very  heart  of  his  submission. 
This  is  the  double  problem  which  religions  are  called  upon  to 
solve. 

This  they  have  too  often  overlooked ;  they  have  considered 
liberty  as  an  obstacle,  not  as  a  means ;  they  have  forgotten  the 
nature  of  the  force  to  which  they  address  themselves,  and  have 
treated  the  human  soul  as  they  would  a  material  force.  It  is  in 
following  this  error  that  they  have  almost  always  been  led  to 
range  themselves  on  the  side  of  power  and  despotism  against 
human  liberty,  regarding  it  only  as  an  adversary,  and  taking 
more  pains  to  subdue  than  to  secure  it.  If  religions  had  turned 
their  means  of  action  to  good  account,  if  they  had  not  allowed 
themselves  to  be  carried  away  by  a  natural  but  deceitful  in- 
clination, they  would  have  seen  that  it  is  necessary  to  guarantee 
liberty  in  order  to  regulate  it  morally ;  that  religion  cannot,  nor 
ought  to  act  except  by  moral  means ;  they  would  have  respected 
the  will  of  man  in  applying  themselves  to  govern  it.  This  they 
have  too  often  forgotten,  and  religious  power  has  ended  in  itself 
suffering  as  much  as  liberty. 

I  will  go  no  further  in  the  examination  of  the  general  con- 
sequence of  the  influence  of  the  church  upon  European  civili- 
ation.  I  have  recapitulated  them  in  this  twofold  result ;  a  great 
and  salutary  influence  upon  the  social  and  moral  order,  an  in- 
fluence rather  unfortunate  than  beneficial  on  the  political  order, 
properly  so  called.  We  have  now  to  verify  our  assertions  by 
facts,  to  verify  by  history  that  which  we  have  deduced  from 
the  mere  nature  and  situation  of  the  ecclesiastical  society.  Let 
us  see  what  was  the  fate  of  the  Christian  church  from  the  fifth 
to  the  twelfth  century,  and  whether  the  principles  which  I  have 
placed  before  you,  and  the  results  which  T  have  attempted  to 
draw  from  them,  were  really  developed  as  I  have  ventured  to 
describe. 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  97 

You  should  be  careful  not  to  suppose  that  these  principles 
and  consequences  have  appeared  at  the  same  periods,  and  with 
the  same  distinctness  that  I  have  represented  them.  It  is  a 
great  and  too  common  an  error,  when  considering  the  past  at 
the  distance  of  many  centuries,  to  forget  the  moral  chronology, 
to  forget  (singular  obliviousness !)  that  history  is  essentially 
successive.  Take  the  life  of  a  man,  of  Cromwell,  Gustavus 
Adolphus  or  Cardinal  Richelieu.  He  enters  upon  his  career, 
he  moves  and  progresses ;  he  influences  great  events,  and  he  in 
his  turn  is  influenced  by  them;  he  arrives  at  the  goal.  We  then 
know  him,  but  it  is  in  his  whole ;  it  is,  as  it  were,  such  as  he  has 
issued  after  much  labor  from  the  workshop  of  Providence.  But 
at  starting  he  was  not  what  he  has  thus  become ;  he  has  never 
been  complete  and  finished  at  any  single  period  of  his  life ;  he 
has  been  formed  progressively.  Men  are  formed  morally  as 
physically ;  they  change  daily ;  their  being  modifies  itself  with- 
out ceasing;  the  Cromwell  of  1650  was  not  the  Cromwell  of  1640. 
There  is  always  a  groundwork  of  individuality ;  it  is  always  the 
same  man  who  perseveres ;  but  how  changed  are  his  ideas, 
sentiments  and  will !  What  things  has  he  lost  and  acquired ! 
At  whatever  moment  we  look  upon  the  life  of  man  there  is  no 
time  when  it  has  been  what  we  shall  see  it  when  its  term  is  at- 
tained. 

It  is  here,  however,  that  most  historians  have  fallen  into  error ; 
because  they  have  gained  one  complete  idea  of  man  they  see 
him  such  throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  career.  For  them, 
it  is  the  same  Cromwell  who  enters  parliament  in  1628,  and  who 
dies  thirty  years  afterward  in  the  palace  of  Whitehall.  And 
with  regard  to  institutions  and  general  influences,  they  inces- 
santly commit  the  same  error.  Let  us  guard  against  it.  I 
have  represented  to  you  the  principles  of  the  church  in  their 
entirety,  and  the  development  of  the  consequences.  But  re- 
member that  historically  the  picture  is  not  correct ;  all  has  been 
partial  and  successive,  cast  here  and  there  over  space  and  time. 
We  must  not  expect  to  find  this  uniformity,  this  prompt  and 
systematic  connection,  in  the  recital  of  facts.  Here  we  shall  see 
one  principle  springing  up,  there  another;  all  will  be  incomplete, 
unequal  and  dispersed.  We  must  come  to  modern  times,  to 
the  end  of  the  career,  before  we  shall  find  the  entire  result.  I 
shall  now  place  before  you  the  various  states  through  which 
the  church  passed  between  the  fifth  and  the  twelfth  century.  We 
cannot  collect  an  entire  demonstration  of  the  assertions  which 
I  have  placed  before  you,  but  we  shall  see  sufficient  to  enable  us 
to  presume  they  are  legitimate. 

The  first  condition  in  which  the  church  appears  at  the  fifth 
century  is  the  imperial  state,  the  church  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
When  the  Roman  Empire  was  on  the  decline  the  church 
7 


98  GUIZOT 

thought  herself  at  the  term  of  her  career,  and  that  her  triumph 
was  accomphshed.  It  is  true  she  had  completely  vanquished 
paganism.  The  last  emperor  who  took  the  rank  of  sovereign 
pontiff,  which  was  a  pagan  dignity,  was  the  emperor  Gratian, 
who  died  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  century.  Gratian  was  called 
sovereign  pontiff,  like  Augustus  and  Tiberius.  The  church 
likewise  thought  herself  at  the  end  of  her  struggle  with  the 
heretics,  especially  with  the  Arians,  the  chief  heretics  of  the 
day.  The  Emperor  Theodosius,  toward  the  end  of  the  fourth 
century,  instituted  against  them  a  complete  and  severe  legis- 
lation. The  church  then  enjoyed  the  government  and  the 
victory  over  its  two  most  formidable  enemies.  It  was  at  this 
moment  that  she  saw  the  Roman  Empire  fail  her,  and  found  her- 
self in  the  presence  of  other  pagans  and  heretics,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  barbarians,  Goths,  Vandals,  Burgundians  and  Franks. 
The  fall  was  immense.  You  may  easily  conceive  the  lively  at- 
tachment for  the  empire  which  must  have  been  preserved  in 
the  bosom  of  the  church.  Thus  we  see  her  strongly  adhering 
to  what  remained  of  it — to  the  municipal  system  and  to  ab- 
solute power.  And  when  she  had  converted  the  barbarians,  she 
attempted  to  resuscitate  the  empire;  she  addressed  herself  to 
the  barbarous  kings,  conjured  them  to  become  Roman  em- 
perors, to  take  all  the  rights  belonging  to  them,  and  enter  into 
the  same  relations  with  the  church  as  that  which  she  had  main- 
tained with  the  Roman  Empire,  This  was  the  work  of  the 
bishops  between  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries,  the  general  state 
of  the  church. 

This  attempt  could  not  be  successful;  there  were  no  means 
of  reforming  the  Roman  society  with  barbarians.  Like  the 
civil  world,  the  church  herself  fell  into  barbarism.  This  was 
its  second  state.  When  one  compares  the  writings  of  the  ec- 
clesiastical chroniclers  of  the  eighth  century  with  those  of  pre- 
ceding ages,  the  difference  is  immense.  Every  wreck  of  Ro- 
man civilization  had  disappeared,  even  the  language ;  every- 
thing felt  itself,  as  it  were,  cast  into  barbarism.  On  the  one 
hand,  barbarians  entered  the  clerical  order,  and  became  priests 
and  bishops;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  bishops  adopted  a  life  of 
barbarism,  and  without  quitting  their  bishoprics,  placed  them- 
selves at  the  head  of  bands,  overrunning  the  country,  pillaging, 
and  making  war,  like  the  companions  of  Clovis.  You  will  find 
in  Gregory  of  Tours  mention  of  several  bishops,  among  others 
Salonus  and  Sagittarius,  who  thus  passed  their  lives. 

Two  important  facts  developed  themselves  in  the  bosom  of 
this  barbarous  church.  The  first  is  the  separation  of  the  spirit- 
ual and  temporal  power.  This  principle  took  its  rise  at  this 
epoch.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural.  The  church  not  hav- 
ing succeeded  in  resuscitating  the  absolute  power  of  the  Roman 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  99 

Empire,  and  sharing  it  herself,  was  forced  to  seek  safety  in  in- 
dependence. It  was  necessary  that  she  should  defend  herself 
on  all  sides,  for  she  was  continually  threatened.  Each  bishop 
and  priest  saw  his  barbarous  neighbors  incessantly  interfering 
in  the  affairs  of  the  church,  to  usurp  her  riches,  lands  and 
power;  her  only  means  of  defence  was  to  say,  "The  spiritual 
order  is  totally  separate  from  the  temporal;  you  have  not  the 
right  to  interfere  in  its  affairs."  This  principle,  above  all 
others,  became  the  defensive  arm  of  the  church  against  bar- 
barism. 

A  second  important  fact  belonged  to  this  epoch,  the  devel- 
opment of  the  monastic  order  in  the  west.  It  is  known  that  at 
the  commencement  of  the  sixth  century,  St.  Benedict  insti- 
tuted his  order  among  the  monks  of  the  west,  who  were  then 
trifling  in  number,  but  who  have  since  prodigiously  increased. 
The  monks  at  this  epoch  were  not  members  of  the  clergy ;  they 
were  still  regarded  as  laymen.  No  doubt  priests,  or  even 
bishops,  were  sought  for  among  them ;  but  it  was  only  at 
the  end  of  the  fifth  and  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  cen- 
tury that  the  monks  in  general  were  considered  as  forming  a 
part  of  the  clergy,  properly  so  called.  We  then  find  that 
priests  and  bishops  became  monks,  believing  that  by  so 
doing  they  made  a  fresh  progress  in  religious  life.  Thus 
the  monastic  order  in  Europe  took  all  at  once  a  great  de- 
velopment. The  monks  struck  the  fancy  of  the  barbarians 
far  more  than  the  secular  clergy.  Their  number  was  as  im- 
posing as  their  singularity  of  life.  The  secular  clergy,  the 
bishop  or  simple  priest,  were  common  to  the  imagination  of 
the  barbarians,  who  were  accustomed  to  see,  maltreat  and  rob 
them.  It  was  a  much  more  serious  affair  to  attack  a  monastery, 
where  so  many  holy  men  were  congregated  in  one  holy  place. 
The  monasteries,  during  the  barbaric  epoch,  were  an  asylum 
for  the  church,  as  the  church  was  for  the  laity.  Pious  men 
there  found  a  refuge,  as  in  the  east  they  sheltered  themselves 
in  the  Thebaid,  to  escape  a  worldly  life  and  the  temptations  of 
Constantinople. 

Such  are  the  two  great  facts  in  the  history  of  the  church, 
which  belong  to  the  barbaric  epoch ;  on  one  side  the  develop- 
ment of  the  principle  of  separation  between  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  power ;  on  the  other,  the  development  of  the  mon- 
astic system  in  the  west. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  barbaric  epoch,  there  was  a  new  at- 
tempt to  resuscitate  the  Roman  Empire  made  by  Charlemagne. 
The  church  and  the  civil  sovereign  again  contracted  a  close 
alliance.  This  was  an  epoch  of  great  docility,  and  hence  one 
of  great  progress  for  papacy.  The  attempt  again  failed,  and 
the  empire  of  Charlemagne  fell ;  but  the  advantages  which  the 


loo  GUIZOT 

church  had  gained  from  his  alHance  still  remained  with  her. 
Papacy  found  herself  definitely  at  the  head  of  Christianity. 

On  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  chaos  recommenced;  the 
church  again  fell  into  it  as  well  as  civil  society,  and  only  left 
it  to  enter  the  frame  of  feudalism.  This  was  its  third  state. 
By  the  dissolution  of  the  empire  of  Charlemagne,  there  hap- 
pened almost  the  same  thing  in  the  ecclesiastical  order  as  in 
the  civil  order ;  all  unity  disappeared,  all  became  local,  partial, 
and  individual.  There  then  commenced  in  the  situation  of  the 
clergy  a  struggle  which  it  had  never  experienced  before.  This 
was  the  struggle  between  the  sentiments  and  interests  of  the 
fief-holder  and  the  sentiments  and  interests  of  the  priest.  The 
chiefs  of  the  church  were  placed  betwen  these  two  positions, 
each  tended  to  overcome  the  other;  the  ecclesiastical  spirit  was 
no  longer  so  powerful  or  so  universal ;  individual  interest  be- 
came more  influential,  and  the  desire  for  independence  and  the 
habits  of  a  feudal  life,  loosened  the  ties  of  the  ecclesiastical 
hierarchy.  There  was  then  made  in  the  bosom  of  the  church 
an  attempt  to  remedy  the  effects  of  this  relaxation.  They 
sought  in  various  quarters,  by  a  system  of  federation,  and  by 
communal  assemblies  and  deliberations,  to  organize  national 
churches.  It  is  at  this  epoch,  and  under  the  feudal  system, 
that  we  find  the  greatest  number  of  councils,  convocations,  and 
ecclesiastical  assemblies,  both  provincial  and  national.  It  was 
in  France,  more  especially,  that  this  attempt  at  unity  seemed 
followed  with  the  greatest  ardor.  Hincmar,  archbishop  of 
Rheims,  may  perhaps  be  considered  as  the  representative  of 
this  idea.  His  constant  care  was  to  organize  the  French 
church;  he  sought  and  put  in  force  all  the  means  of  corre- 
spondence and  union  which  might  bring  back  some  unity  into 
the  feudal  church.  We  find  Hincmar  maintaining  on  the  one 
side  the  independence  of  the  church  with  regard  to  its  temporal 
power,  and  on  the  other  its  independence  with  regard  to  pa- 
pacy; it  was  he  who,  knowing  that  the  pope  wished  to  come 
into  France,  and  threatened  the  bishops  with  excommunica- 
tion, said.  Si  excomniunicaturus  vcncrit,  cxcommunicatus  obihit. 
But  this  attempt  to  organize  the  feudal  church  succeeded  no 
better  than  the  attempt  to  organize  the  imperial  church  had 
done.  There  were  no  means  of  establishing  unity  in  this 
church.  Its  dissolution  was  always  increasing.  Each  bishop, 
prelate  and  abbot  isolated  himself  more  and  more  within  his 
diocese  or  his  monastery.  The  disorder  increased  from  the 
same  cause.  This  was  the  time  of  the  greatest  abuses  of 
simony,  of  the  entirely  arbitrary  disposition  of  ecclesiastical 
benefices,  and  of  the  greatest  looseness  of  manners  among 
the  priests.  This  disorder  greatly  shocked  the  people  and  the 
better  portion  of  the  clergy.    We  thence  see  at  an  early  time,  a 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  loi 

certain  spririt  of  reform  appear  in  the  church,  and  the  desire 
to  seek  some  authority  which  could  rally  all  these  elements, 
and  impose  law  upon  them.  Claude,  bishop  of  Turin,  and 
Agobard,  archbishop  of  Lyons,  originated  in  their  dioceses 
some  attempts  of  this  nature,  but  they  were  not  in  a  condition 
to  accomplish  such  a  work.  There  was  within  the  whole 
church  but  one  force  adequate  to  it,  and  that  was  the  court  of 
Rome,  the  papacy.  It  was,  therefore,  not  long  ere  it  prevailed. 
The  church  passed  during  the  course  of  the  elevienth  century 
into  its  fourth  state,  that  of  the  theocratical  or  monastical 
church.  The  creator  of  this  new  form  of  church,  in  so  far 
as  a  man  can  create,  was  Gregory  VII. 

We  are  accustomed  to  represent  to  ourselves  Gregory  VII 
as  a  man  who  wished  to  render  all  things  immovable,  as  an 
adversary  to  intellectual  development  and  social  progress,  and 
as  a  man  who  strove  to  maintain  the  world  in  a  stationary  or 
retrograding  system.  Nothing  can  be  so  false.  Gregory  VII 
was  a  reformer  upon  the  plan  of  despotism,  as  were  Charle- 
magne and  Peter  the  Great.  He,  in  the  ecclesiastical  order, 
was  almost  what  Charlemagne  in  France  and  Peter  the  Great 
in  Russia  were  in  the  civil  order.  He  wished  to  reform  the 
church,  and  through  the  church  to  reform  society,  to  intro- 
duce therein  more  morality,  more  justice,  and  more  law — he 
wished  to  effect  this  through  the  holy  see,  and  to  its  profit. 

At  the  same  time  that  he  strove  to  subject  the  civil  world 
to  the  church,  and  the  church  to  papacy,  with  an  aim  of  re- 
form and  progress,  and  not  one  of  immobility  or  retrogression, 
an  attempt  of  the  same  kind  and  a  similar  movement  was  pro- 
duced in  the  heart  of  monasteries.  The  desire  for  order,  dis- 
cipline and  moral  strictness,  was  zealously  shown.  It  was  at 
this  period  that  Robert  de  Moleme  introduced  a  severe  order  at 
Citeaux.  This  was  the  age  of  St.  Norbert  and  the  reform  of 
the  prebendaries,  of  the  reform  of  Cluni,  and  lastly,  of  the 
great  reform  of  St.  Bernard.  A  general  ferment  reigned  in  the 
monasteries ;  the  old  monks  defended  themselves,  declared 
it  to  be  an  injurious  thing,  said  that  their  liberty  was  in  dan- 
ger, that  the  manners  of  the  times  must  be  complied  with, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  return  to  the  primitive  church,  and 
treated  all  the  reformers  as  madmen,  dreamers  and  tyrants. 
Open  the  history  of  Normandy,  by  Orderic  Vital,  and  you  will 
continually  meet  with  these  complaints. 

All  therefore  seemed  tending  to  the  advantage  of  the  church, 
to  its  unity  and  power.  While  papacy  sought  to  seize  upon  the 
government  of  the  world,  and  while  monasteries  reformed 
themselves  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  some  powerful  though 
isolated  men  claimed  for  human  reason  its  right  to  be  con- 
sidered as  something  in  man,  and  its  right  to  interfere  in  his 


102  GUIZOT 

opinions.  The  greater  part  of  them  did  not  attack  received 
doctrines  nor  religious  creeds ;  they  only  said  that  reason  had 
a  right  to  test  them,  and  that  it  did  not  suffice  that  they  should 
be  affirmed  upon  authority.  John  Erigena,  Roscelin  and 
Abailard  were  the  interpreters  through  whom  reason  once 
more  began  to  claim  her  inheritance;  these  were  the  first 
authors  of  the  movement  of  liberty  which  is  associated  with 
the  movement  of  reform  of  Hildebrand  and  St.  Bernard.  When 
we  seek  the  dominant  character  of  this  movement,  we  find  that 
it  is  not  a  change  of  opinion,  or  a  revolt  against  the  system 
of  public  creeds — it  is  simply  the  right  of  reasoning  claimed 
on  the  behalf  of  reason.  The  pupils  of  Abailard  asked  him,  as 
he  himself  tells  us  in  his  Introduction  to  Theology,  "  for 
philosophical  argument  calculated  to  satisfy  the  reason,  sup- 
plicating him  to  instruct  them,  not  to  repeat  what  he  taught 
them,  but  to  understand  it ;  because  nothing  can  be  believed 
without  being  understood,  and  it  is  ridiculous  to  preach  things 
which  neither  he  who  professes,  nor  those  whom  he  teaches, 
can  understand.  ...  To  what  purpose  were  the  study  of 
philosophy,  if  not  to  lead  to  the  study  of  God,  to  whom  all 
things  should  be  referred?  With  what  view  are  the  faithful 
permitted  to  read  the  writings  which  treat  of  the  age  and  the 
books  of  the  Gentiles,  unless  to  prepare  them  for  understand- 
ing the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  the  necessary  capacity  for  de- 
fending them?  In  this  view  it  is  especially  necessary  to  be 
aided  with  all  the  force  of  reason,  so  as  to  prevent,  upon 
questions  so  difficult  and  complicated  as  are  those  which  form 
the  object  of  the  Christian  faith,  the  subtleties  of  its  enemies 
from  easily  contriving  to  adulterate  the  purity  of  our  faith." 

The  importance  of  this  first  attempt  at  liberty,  this  regenera- 
tion of  the  spirit  of  inquiry,  was  soon  felt.  Although  occupied 
in  reforming  herself,  the  church  did  not  the  less  take  the  alarm. 
She  immediately  declared  war  against  these  new  reformers, 
whose  methods  menaced  her  more  than  their  doctrines. 

This  is  the  great  fact  which  shone  forth  at  the  end  of  the 
eleventh  and  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century,  at  the  time 
when  the  state  of  the  church  was  that  of  the  theocratical  or 
monastic.  At  this  epoch,  for  the  first  time,  there  arose  a 
struggle  between  the  clergy  and  the  free-thinkers.  The  quar- 
rels of  Abailard  and  St.  Bernard,  the  councils  of  Soissons  and 
Sens,  where  Abailard  was  condemned,  are  nothing  but  the  ex- 
pression of  this  fact,  which  holds  so  important  a  position  in 
the  history  of  modern  civilization.  It  was  the  principal  cir- 
cumstance in  the  state  of  the  church  in  the  twelfth  century, 
at  the  point  at  which  we  shall  now  leave  it. 

At  the  same  time  a  movement  of  a  different  nature  was  pro- 
duced, the  movement  for  the  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs. 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  103 

Singular  inconsistency  of  rude  and  ignorant  manners !  If  it 
had  been  said  to  the  citizens  who  conquered  their  Hberty  with 
so  much  passion,  that  there  were  men  who  claimed  the  rights 
of  human  reason,  the  right  of  free  inquiry — men  whom  the 
church  treated  as  heretics — they  would  have  instantly  stoned 
or  burnt  them.  More  than  once  did  Abailard  and  his  friends 
run  this  risk.  On  the  other  hand,  those  very  writers  who 
claimed  the  rights  of  human  reason,  spoke  of  the  efforts  for 
the  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs  as  of  an  abominable  dis- 
order, and  overthrow  of  society.  Between  the  philosophical 
and  the  communal  movement,  between  the  political  and  ra- 
tional enfranchisement,  war  seemed  to  be  declared.  Centuries 
were  necessary  to  effect  the  reconciliation  of  these  two  great 
powers,  and  to  make  them  understand  that  their  interests  were 
in  common.  At  the  twelfth  century  they  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon. 


SEVENTH   LECTURE. 

WE  have  conducted,  down  to  the  twelfth  century,  the 
history  of  the  two  great  elements  of  civilization, 
the  feudal  system  and  the  church.  It  is  the  third 
of  these  fundamental  elements,  I  mean  the  boroughs,  which 
now  we  have  to  trace  likewise  down  to  the  twelfth  century, 
confining  ourselves  to  the  same  limits  which  we  have  observed 
in  the  other  two. 

We  shall  find  ourselves  differently  situated  with  regard  to 
the  boroughs,  from  what  we  were  with  regard  to  the  church 
or  the  feudal  system.  From  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century, 
the  feudal  system  and  the  church,  although  at  a  later  period 
they  experienced  new  developments,  showed  themselves  al- 
most complete,  and  in  a  definitive  state;  we  have  watched 
their  birth,  increase  and  maturity.  It  is  not  so  with  the  bor- 
oughs. It  is  only  at  the  end  of  the  epoch  which  now  occupies 
us,  in  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  that  they  take  up 
any  position  in  history;  not  but  that  before  then  they  had  a  his- 
tory which  was  deserving  of  study;  nor  is  it  that  there  were  not 
long  before  this  epoch  traces  of  their  existence;  but  it  was  only 
at  the  eleventh  century  that  they  became  evidently  visible 
upon  the  great  scene  of  the  world,  and  as  an  important  element 
of  modern  civilization.  Thus,  in  the  feudal  system  and  the 
church,  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century,  we  have  seen 
the  eflfects  born  and  developed  from  the  causes.  Whenever, 
by  way  of  induction  or  conjecture,  we  have  deduced  certain 
principles  and  results,  we  have  been  able  to  verify  them  by 
an  inquiry  into  the  facts  themselves.  As  regards  the  bor- 
oughs, this  facility  fails  us;  we  are  present  only  at  their 
birth.  At  present  I  must  confine  myself  to  causes  and  origins. 
What  I  say  concerning  the  eflfects  of  the  existence  of  the 
boroughs,  and  their  influence  in  the  course  of  European  civili- 
zation, I  shall  say  in  some  measure  by  way  of  anticipation. 
I  cannot  invoke  the  testimony  of  contemporaneous  and  known 
facts.  It  is  at  a  later  period,  from  the  twelfth  to  the  fifteenth 
century,  that  we  shall  see  the  boroughs  taking  their  development, 
the  institution  bearing  all  its  fruit,  and  history  proving  our 
assertions.  I  dwell  upon  this  difference  of  situation  in  order 
to  anticipate  your  objections  against  the  incompleteness  and 

104 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  105 

prematurity  of  the  picture  which  I  am  about  to  offer  you. 
I  will  suppose  that  in  1789,  at  the  time  of  the  commencement 
of  the  terrible  regeneration  of  France,  a  burgher  of  the  twelfth 
century  had  suddenly  appeared  among  us,  and  that  he  had 
been  given  to  read,  provided  he  knew  how,  one  of  the  pam- 
phlets which  so  powerfully  agitated  mind ;  for  example,  the 
pamphlet  of  M.  Sieyes — ''Who  is  the  third  estate?"  His 
eyes  fall  upon  this  sentence,  which  is  the  foundation  of  the 
pamphlet:  "The  third  estate  is  the  French  nation,  less  the 
nobility  and  the  clergy."  I  ask  you,  what  would  be  the  effect 
of  such  a  phrase  upon  the  mind  of  such  a  man?  Do  you 
suppose  he  would  understand  it  ?  No,  he  could  not  understand 
the  words,  the  French  nation,  because  they  would  represent 
to  him  no  fact  wath  which  he  was  acquainted,  no  fact  of  his  age ; 
and  if  he  understood  the  phrase,  if  he  clearly  saw  in  it  this 
sovereignty  attributed  to  the  third  estate  above  all  society, 
of  a  verity  it  would  appear  to  him  mad,  impious,  such  would 
be  its  contradiction  to  all  that  he  had  seen,  to  all  his  ideas 
and  sentiments. 

Now,  ask  this  astonished  burgher  to  follow  you:  lead  him 
to  one  of  the  French  boroughs  of  this  epoch,  to  Rheims,  Beau- 
vais,  Laon,  or  Noyon ;  a  different  kind  of  astonishment  would 
seize  him :  he  enters  a  town ;  he  sees  neither  towers  nor  ram- 
parts, nor  burgher  militia ;  no  means  of  defence ;  all  is  open, 
all  exposed  to  the  first  comer,  and  the  first  occupant.  The 
burgher  would  doubt  the  safety  of  this  borough;  he  would 
think  it  weak  and  ill-secured.  He  penetrates  into  the  interior, 
and  inquires  what  is  passing,  in  what  manner  it  is  governed, 
and  what  are  its  inhabitants.  They  tell  him  that  beyond  the 
walls  there  is  a  power  which  taxes  them  at  pleasure  without 
their  consent;  which  convokes  their  militia  and  sends  it  to 
war  without  their  voice  in  the  matter.  He  speaks  to  them  of 
magistrates,  of  the  mayor,  and  of  the  aldermen ;  and  he  hears 
that  the  burghers  do  not  nominate  them.  He  learns  that  the 
affairs  of  the  borough  are  not  decided  in  the  borough;  but 
that  a  man  belonging  to  the  king,  an  intendant,  administers 
them,  alone  and  at  a  distance.  Furthermore,  they  will  tell  him 
that  the  inhabitants  have  not  the  right  of  assembling  and  de- 
liberating in  common  upon  matters  which  concern  them ;  that 
they  are  never  summoned  to  the  public  place  by  the  bell  of 
their  church.  The  burgher  of  the  twelfth  century  would  be 
confounded.  First,  he  was  stupefied  and  dismayed  at  the 
grandeur  and  importance  that  the  communal  nation,  the  third 
estate,  attributed  to  itself;  and  now  he  finds  it  on  its  own 
hearthstone  in  a  state  of  servitude,  weakness,  and  nonentity, 
far  worse  than  any  thing  which  he  had  experienced.  He 
passes  from  one  spectacle  to  another  utterly  different,  from 


io6  GUIZOT 

the  view  of  a  sovereign  burghership  to  that  of  one  entirely 
powerless.  How  would  you  have  him  comprehend  this, — rec- 
oncile it,  so  that  his  mind  be  not  overcome? 

Let  us  burghers  of  the  nineteenth  century  go  back  to  the 
twelfth  and  be  present  at  an  exactly  corresponding  double 
spectacle.  Whenever  we  regard  the  general  affairs  of  a  coun- 
try, its  state,  its  government,  the  whole  society,  we  shall  see 
no  burghers,  hear,  speak  of  none;  they  interfere  in  nothing, 
and  are  quite  unimportant.  And  not  only  have  they  no  im- 
portance in  the  state,  but  if  we  would  know  what  they  think 
of  their  situation,  and  how  they  speak  of  it,  and  what  their 
position  in  regard  to  their  relation  with  the  government  of 
France  in  general  is  in  their  own  eyes,  we  shall  find  in  their 
language  an  extraordinary  timidity  and  humility.  Their  ancient 
masters,  the  lords,  from  whom  they  forced  their  franchises, 
treat  them,  at  least  in  words,  with  a  haughtiness  which  con- 
founds us;   but  it  neither  astonishes  nor  irritates  them. 

Let  us  enter  into  the  borough  itself;  let  us  see  what  passes 
there.  The  scene  changes ;  we  are  in  a  kind  of  fortified  place 
defended  by  armed  burghers:  these  burghers  tax  themselves, 
elect  their  magistrates,  judge  and  punish,  and  assemble  for 
the  purpose  of  deliberating  upon  their  affairs.  All  come  to 
these  assemblies ;  they  make  war  on  their  own  account  against 
their  lord;  and  they  have  a  militia.  In  a  word,  they  govern 
themselves;  they  are  sovereigns.  This  is  the  same  contrast 
which  in  the  France  of  the  eighteenth  century  so  much  aston- 
ished the  burghers  of  the  twelfth;  it  is  only  the  parts  that 
are  changed.  In  the  latter,  the  burgher  nation  is  all,  the  bor- 
ough nothing;  in  the  former,  the  burghership  is  nothing,  the 
borough  everything. 

Assuredly,  between  the  twelfth  and  the  eighteenth  century, 
many  things  must  have  passed — many  extraordinary  events, 
and  many  revolutions  have  been  accomplished,  to  bring  about, 
in  the  existence  of  a  social  class,  so  enormous  a  change.  Despite 
this  change,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  third  estate 
of  1789  was,  politically  speaking,  the  descendant  and  heir  of 
the  corporations  of  the  twelfth  century.  This  French  nation, 
so  haughty  and  ambitious,  which  raises  its  pretensions  so  high, 
which  so  loudly  proclaims  its  sovereignty,  which  pretends  not 
only  to  regenerate  and  govern  itself,  but  to  govern  and  regen- 
erate the  world,  undoubtedly  descends,  principally  at  least, 
from  the  burghers  who  obscurely  though  courageously  revolted 
in  the  twelfth  century,  with  the  sole  end  of  escaping  in  some 
corner  of  the  land  from  the  obscure  tyranny  of  the  lords. 

Most  assuredly  it  is  not  in  the  state  of  the  boroughs  in  the 
twelfth  century  that  we  shall  find  the  explanation  of  such  a 
metamorphosis :  it  was  accomplished  and  had  its  causes  in  the 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  107 

events  which  succeeded  it  from  the  twelfth  to  the  eighteenth 
century;  it  is  there  that  we  shall  meet  it  in  its  progression. 
Still  the  origin  of  the  third  estate  has  played  an  important 
part  in  its  history ;  although  we  shall  not  find  there  the  secret 
of  its  destiny,  we  shall,  at  least,  find  its  germ:  for  what  it 
was  at  first  is  again  found  in  what  it  has  become,  perhaps, 
even  to  a  greater  extent  than  appearances  would  allow  of  our 
presuming.  A  picture,  even  an  incomplete  one,  of  the  state  of 
the  boroughs  in  the  twelfth  century,  will,  I  think,  leave  you 
convinced  of  this. 

The  better  to  understand  this  state,  it  is  necessary  to  con- 
sider the  boroughs  from  two  principal  points  of  view.  There 
are  two  great  questions  to  resolve;  the  first,  that  of  the  en- 
franchisement of  the  boroughs  itself — the  question  how  the 
revolution  was  operated,  and  from  what  causes — what  change 
it  brought  into  the  situation  of  the  burghers,  what  effect  it  has 
had  upon  society  in  general,  upon  the  other  classes  and  upon 
the  state.  The  second  question  relates  only  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  boroughs,  the  internal  condition  of  the  enfranchised 
towns,  the  relations  of  the  burghers  among  themselves,  and 
the  principles,  forms  and  manners  which  dominated  in  the  cities. 

It  is  from  these  two  sources,  on  the  one  hand,  from  the  change 
introduced  into  the  social  condition  of  the  burghers,  and  on 
the  other,  from  their  internal  government  and  their  communal 
condition,  that  all  their  influence  upon  modern  civilization  origi- 
nated. There  are  no  facts  produced  by  this  influence  but 
which  should  be  referred  to  one  or  other  of  these  causes.  When, 
therefore,  we  shall  have  summed  them  up,  when  we  thor- 
oughly understand,  on  one  side,  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
boroughs,  and  on  the  other,  the  government  of  the  boroughs, 
we  shall  be  in  possession,  so  to  speak,  of  the  two  keys  to  their 
history. 

Lastly,  I  shall  say  a  word  concerning  the  various  state  of  the 
boroughs  throughout  Europe.  The  facts  which  I  am  about  to 
place  before  you  do  not  apply  indifferently  to  all  the  boroughs 
of  the  twelfth  century,  to  the  boroughs  of  Italy,  Spain,  Eng- 
land, or  France ;  there  are  certainly  some  which  belong  to  all, 
but  the  differences  are  great  and  important.  I  shall  point 
them  out  in  passing ;  we  shall  again  encounter  them  in  a  later 
period  of  civilization,  and  we  will  then  investigate  them  more 
closely. 

To  understand  the  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs,  it  is 
necessary  to  recall  to  your  minds  what  was  the  state  of  the 
towns  from  the  fifth  to  the  eleventh  century — from  the  fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire  down  to  the  commencement  of  the  com- 
munal revolution.  Here,  I  repeat,  the  differences  were  very 
great ;  the  state  of  the  towns  varied  prodigiously  in  the  various 


io8  GUIZOT 

countries  of  Europe;  still  there  are  general  facts  which  may 
be  affirmed  of  almost  all  towns ;  and  I  shall  try  to  confine  my- 
self to  them.  When  I  depart  from  this  restriction,  what  I 
say  more  especially  will  apply  to  the  boroughs  of  France,  and 
particularly  to  the  boroughs  of  the  north  of  France,  beyond  the 
Rhone  and  the  Loire.  These  will  be  the  prominent  points  in 
the  picture  which  I  shall  attempt  to  trace. 

After  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  from  the  fifth  to  the 
tenth  century,  the  condition  of  the  towns  was  one  neither  of 
servitude  nor  liberty.  One  runs  the  same  risk  in  the  employ- 
ment of  words  that  I  spoke  of  the  other  day  in  the  painting 
of  men  and  events.  When  a  society  and  a  language  has  long 
existed,  the  words  take  a  complete,  determined  and  precise 
sense,  a  legal  and  official  sense,  in  a  manner.  Time  has  intro- 
duced into  the  sense  of  each  term  a  multitude  of  ideas  which 
arise  the  moment  that  it  is  pronounced,  and  which,  not  belong- 
ing to  the  same  date,  are  not  applicable  alike  to  all  times.  For 
example,  the  words  servitude  and  liberty  call  to  our  minds  in  the 
present  day  ideas  infinitely  more  precise  and  complete  than 
the  corresponding  facts  of  the  eighth,  ninth  or  tenth  centuries. 
If  we  say  that,  at  the  eighth  century,  the  towns  were  in  a  state 
of  liberty,  we  say  far  too  much ;  in  the  present  day  we  attach 
a  sense  to  the  word  liberty  which  does  not  represent  the  fact 
of  the  eighth  century.  We  shall  fall  into  the  same  error  if  we 
say  that  the  towns  were  in  a  state  of  servitude,  because  the 
word  implies  an  entirely  different  thing  from  the  municipal 
facts  of  that  period. 

I  repeat  that  at  that  time  the  towns  were  neither  in  a  state 
of  servitude  nor  liberty;  they  suffered  all  the  ills  which  ac- 
company weakness ;  they  were  a  prey  to  the  violence  and  con- 
tinual depredations  of  the  strong;  but  yet,  despite  all  these 
fearful  disorders,  despite  their  impoverishment  and  depopula- 
tion, the  towns  had  preserved  ancl  did  still  preserve  a  certain 
importance :  in  most  of  them  there  was  a  clergy,  a  bishop,  who 
by  the  great  exercise  of  power,  and  his  influence  upon  the 
population,  served  as  a  connecting  link  between  them  and  their 
conquerors,  and  thus  maintained  the  town  in  a  kind  of  in- 
dependence, and  covered  it  with  the  shield  of  religion.  More- 
over, there  remained  in  the  towns  many  wrecks  of  Roman 
institutions.  One  meets  at  this  epoch  (and  many  facts  of  this 
nature  have  been  collected  by  MM.  de  Savigny  and  Hullman, 
Mademoiselle  de  Lezardiere,  etc.)  with  frequent  convocations 
of  the  senate,  of  the  curia;  there  is  mention  made  of  public 
assemblies  and  municipal  magistrates.  The  affairs  of  the  civil 
order,  wills,  grants  and  a  multitude  of  acts  of  civil  life,  were 
legalized  in  the  curia  by  its  magistrates,  as  was  the  case  in 
the  Roman  municipality.    The  remains  of  urban  activity  and 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  109 

liberty,  it  is  true,  gradually  disappeared.  Barbarism,  disorder 
and  always  increasing  misfortunes  accelerated  the  depopula- 
tion. The  establishment  of  the  masters  of  the  land  in  the  rural 
districts,  and  the  growing  preponderance  of  agricultural  life, 
were  new  causes  of  decay  to  the  towns.  The  bishops  them- 
selves, when  they  had  entered  the  frame  of  feudalism,  placed 
less  importance  on  their  municipal  existence.  Finally,  when 
feudalism  had  completely  triumphed,  the  towns,  without  falling 
into  the  servitude  of  serfs,  found  themselves  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  a  lord,  inclosed  within  some  fief,  and  robbed  of  all 
the  independence  which  had  been  left  to  them,  even  in  the  most 
barbarous  times,  in  the  first  ages  of  the  invasion.  So  that  from 
the  fifth  century  down  to  the  time  of  the  complete  organiza- 
tion of  feudalism  the  condition  of  the  towns  was  always  upon 
the  decline. 

When  once  feudalism  was  thoroughly  established,  when  each 
man  had  taken  his  place,  and  was  settled  upon  his  land,  when 
the  wandering  life  had  ceased,  after  some  time  the  towns  again 
began  to  acquire  some  importance  and  to  display  anew  some  ac- 
tivity. It  is,  as  you  know,  with  human  activity  as  with  the 
fecundity  of  the  earth;  from  the  time  that  commotion  ceases 
it  reappears  and  makes  everything  germinate  and  flourish. 
With  the  least  glimpse  of  order  and  peace  man  takes  hope, 
and  with  hope  goes  to  work.  It  was  thus  with  the  towns ;  the 
moment  that  feudalism  was  a  little  fixed  new  wants  sprang 
up  among  the  fief-holders,  a  certain  taste  for  progress  and 
amelioration;  to  supply  this  want  a  Httle  commerce  and  in- 
dustry reappeared  in  the  towns  of  their  domain;  riches  and 
population  returned  to  them;  slowly,  it  is  true,  but  still  they 
returned.  Among  the  circumstances  which  contributed  thereto, 
one,  I  think,  is  too  little  regarded;  this  is  the  right  of  sanc- 
tuary in  the  churches.  Before  the  boroughs  had  established 
themselves,  before  their  strength  and  their  ramparts  enabled 
them  to  oflfer  an  asylum  to  the  afflicted  population  of  the  coun- 
try, when  as  yet  they  had  no  safety  but  that  afforded  by  the 
church,  this  sufficed  to  draw  into  the  towns  many  unhappy 
fugitives.  They  came  to  shelter  themselves  in  or  around  the 
church;  and  it  was  not  only  the  case  with  the  inferior  class, 
with  serfs  and  boors,  who  sought  safety,  but  often  with  men 
of  importance,  rich  outlaws.  The  chronicles  of  the  time  are 
filled  with  examples  of  this  nature.  One  sees  men,  formerly 
powerful  themselves,  pursued  by  a  more  powerful  neighbor,  or 
even  by  the  king  himself,  who  abandon  their  domains,  carry- 
ing with  them  all  they  can,  shut  themselves  up  within  a  town, 
and  putting  themselves  under  the  protection  of  the  church 
become  citizens.  These  kind  of  refugees  have  not  been,  I 
think,  without  their  influence  upon  the  progress  of  the  towns ; 


no  GUIZOT 

they  introduced  into  them  riches,  and  elements  of  a  superior 
population  to  the  mass  of  their  inhabitants.  Besides,  who 
knows  not  that  when  once  an  association  is  in  part  formed, 
men  flock  to  it,  both  because  they  find  more  safety  and  also 
for  the  mere  sake  of  that  sociability  which  never  leaves  them  r 

By  the  concurrence  of  all  these  causes,  after  the  feudal  gov- 
ernment was  in  some  manner  regulated,  the  towns  regained 
a  little  strength.  Their  security,  however,  did  not  return  to 
them  in  the  same  proportion.  The  wandering  life  had  ceased, 
it  is  true,  but  the  wandering  life  had  been  for  the  conquerors, 
for  the  new  proprietors  of  the  soil,  a  principal  means  of  satis- 
fying their  passions.  When  they  had  wished  to  pillage  they 
made  an  excursion,  they  went  to  a  distance  to  seek  another 
fortune,  another  domain.  When  each  was  nearly  established, 
when  it  became  necessary  to  renounce  this  conquering  vagrancy, 
there  was  no  cessation  of  their  avidity,  their  inordinate  wants, 
nor  their  violent  desires.  Their  weight  then  fell  on  the  people 
nearest  at  hand,  upon  the  towns.  Instead  of  going  to  a  distance 
to  pillage,  they  pillaged  at  home.  The  extortions  of  the  nobility 
upon  the  burgesses  were  redoubled  from  the  commencement  of 
the  tenth  century.  Whenever  the  proprietor  of  a  domain  in 
which  a  town  was  situated  had  any  fit  of  avarice  to  satisfy 
it  was  upon  the  burgesses  that  he  exercised  his  violence.  This, 
above  all,  was  the  epoch  in  which  the  complaints  of  the  bur- 
gesses against  the  absolute  want  of  security  of  commerce  burst 
forth.  The  merchants,  after  having  made  their  journeys,  were 
not  permitted  to  enter  their  towns  in  peace;  the  roads  and 
approaches  were  incessantly  beset  by  the  lord  and  his  followers. 
The  time  at  which  industry  was  recommencing  was  exactly 
that  in  which  security  was  most  wanting.  Nothing  can  irri- 
tate a  man  more  than  being  thus  interfered  with  in  his  work, 
and  despoiled  of  the  fruits  which  he  had  promised  himself 
from  it.  He  is  far  more  annoyed  and  enraged  than  when  har- 
assed in  an  existence  which  has  been  some  time  fixed  and 
monotonous,  when  that  which  is  carried  from  him  has  not 
been  the  result  of  his  own  activity,  has  not  excited  in  his  bosom 
all  the  pleasures  of  hope.  There  is,  in  the  progressive  move- 
ment toward  fortune  of  a  man  or  a  population,  a  principle  of 
resistance  against  injustice  and  violence  far  more  energetic 
than  in  any  other  situation. 

This,  then,  was  the  position  of  the  towns  during  the  tenth 
century;  they  had  more  strength,  more  importance,  more 
riches,  and  more  interests  to  defend.  At  the  same  time  it  was 
more  than  ever  necessary  to  defend  them,  because  this  strength, 
these  interests,  these  riches,  became  an  object  of  envy  to  the 
lords.  The  danger  and  evil  increased  with  the  means  of  resist- 
ing them.    Moreover,  the  feudal  system  gave  to  all  those  who 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  iii 

participated  in  it  the  example  of  continued  resistance ;  it  never 
presented  to  the  mind  the  idea  of  an  organized  government, 
capable  of  ruling  and  quelling  all  by  imposing  its  single  inter- 
vention. It  offered,  on  the  contrary,  the  continuous  spectacle 
of  the  individual  will  refusing  submission.  Such,  for  the  most 
part,  was  the  position  of  the  possessors  of  fiefs  toward  their 
superiors,  of  the  lesser  lords  toward  the  greater;  so  that  at 
the  moment  when  the  towns  were  tormented  and  oppressed, 
when  they  had  new  and  most  important  interests  to  sustain, 
at  that  moment  they  had  before  their  eyes  a  continual  lesson 
of  insurrection.  The  feudal  system  has  rendered  one  service 
to  humanity,  that  of  incessantly  showing  to  men  the  individual 
will  in  the  full  display  of  its  energy.  The  lesson  prospered : 
in  spite  of  their  weakness,  in  spite  of  the  infinite  inequality 
of  condition  between  them  and  their  lords,  the  towns  arose  in 
insurrection  on  all  sides. 

It  is  difficult  to  assign  an  exact  date  to  this  event.  It  is  gen- 
erally said  that  the  enfranchisement  of  the  commons  com- 
menced in  the  eleventh  century;  but,  in  all  great  events,  how 
many  unhappy  and  unknown  efforts  occur  before  the  one  which 
succeeds !  In  all  things,  to  accomplish  its  designs.  Providence 
lavishly  expends  courage,  virtues,  sacrifices,  in  a  word,  man 
himself ;  and  it  is  only  after  an  unknown  number  of  unrecorded 
labors,  after  a  host  of  noble  hearts  have  succumbed  in  dis- 
couragement, convinced  that  their  cause  is  lost,  it  is  only 
then  that  the  cause  triumphs.  It  doubtless  happened  thus  with 
the  commons.  Doubtless,  in  the  eighth,  ninth  and  tenth  cen- 
turies, there  were  many  attempts  at  resistance,  and  movements 
toward  enfranchisement,  which  not  only  were  unsuccessful, 
but  of  which  the  memory  remained  alike  without  glory  or 
success.  It  is  true,  however,  that  these  attempts  have  in- 
fluenced posterior  events;  they  reanimated  and  sustained  the 
spirit  of  liberty,  and  prepared  the  way  for  the  great  insur- 
rection of  the  eleventh  century. 

I  say  designedly,  insurrection.  The  enfranchisement  of  the 
commons  in  the  eleventh  century  was  the  fruit  of  a  veritable 
insurrection,  and  a  veritable  war,  a  war  declared  by  the  popu- 
lation of  the  towns  against  their  lords.  The  first  fact  which 
is  always  met  with  in  such  histories,  is  the  rising  of  the  bur- 
gesses, who  arm  themselves  with  the  first  thing  that  comes 
to  hand ;  the  expulsion  of  the  followers  of  the  lord  who  have 
come  to  put  in  force  some  extortion;  or  it  is  an  enterprise 
against  the  castle;  these  are  always  the  characteristics  of  the 
war.  If  the  insurrection  fails,  what  is  done  by  the  conqueror  ? 
He  orders  the  destruction  of  the  fortification  raised  by  the 
citizens,  not  only  round  the  town  but  round  each  house.  One 
sees  at  the  time  of  the  confederation,  after  having  promised 


112  GUIZOT 

to  act  in  common,  and  after  taking  the  oath  of  mutual  aid,  the 
first  act  of  the  citizen  is  to  fortify  himself  within  his  house. 
Some  boroughs,  of  which  at  this  day  the  name  is  entirely 
obscure,  as,  for  example,  the  little  borough  of  Vezelay  in 
Nivernois,  maintained  a  very  long  and  energetic  struggle 
against  their  lord.  Victory  fell  to  the  abbot  of  Vezelay;  he 
immediately  enjoined  the  demolition  of  the  fortifications  of 
the  citizens'  houses ;  the  names  of  many  are  preserved  whose 
fortified  houses  were  thus  immediately  destroyed. 

Let  us  enter  the  interior  of  the  habitations  of  our  ancestors ; 
let  us  study  the  mode  of  their  construction  and  the  kind  of 
life  which  they  suggest;  all  is  devoted  to  war,  all  has  the 
character  of  war. 

This  is  the  construction  of  a  citizen's  house  in  the  twelfth 
century,  as  far  as  we  can  follow  it  out:  there  were  generally 
three  floors,  with  one  room  upon  each  floor;  the  room  on 
the  ground  floor  was  the  common  room,  where  the  family 
took  their  meals;  the  first  floor  was  very  high  up,  by  way 
of  security;  this  is  the  most  remarkable  characteristic  of  the 
construction.  On  this  floor  was  the  room  which  the  citizen 
and  his  wife  inhabited.  The  house  was  almost  always  flanked 
by  a  tower  at  the  angle,  generally  of  a  square  form ;  another 
symptom  of  war,  a  means  of  defence.  On  the  second  floor 
was  a  room,  the  use  of  which  is  doubtful,  but  which  probably 
served  for  the  children,  and  the  rest  of  the  family.  Above, 
very  often,  was  a  small  platform,  evidently  intended  for  a  place 
of  observation.  The  whole  construction  of  the  house  sug- 
gests war.  This  was  the  evident  character,  the  true  name  of 
the  movement  which  produced  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
commons. 

When  war  has  lasted  a  certain  time,  whoever  may  be  the 
belligerent  powers,  it  necessarily  leads  to  peace.  The  treaties 
of  peace  between  the  commons  and  their  adversaries  were  the 
charters.  The  borough  charters  are  mere  treaties  of  peace 
between  the  burgesses  and  their  lord. 

The  insurrection  was  general.  When  I  say  general,  I  do 
not  mean  that  there  was  a  union  or  coalition  between  all  the 
citizens  in  a  country ;  far  from  it.  The  situation  of  the  com- 
mons was  almost  everywhere  the  same ;  they  were  everywhere 
a  prey  to  the  same  danger,  afflicted  with  the  same  evil.  Having 
acquired  almost  the  same  means  of  resistance  and  defence, 
they  employed  them  at  nearly  the  same  epoch.  Example,  too, 
may  have  done  something,  and  the  success  of  one  or  two  bor- 
oughs may  have  been  contagious.  The  charters  seem  some- 
times to  have  been  drawn  after  the  same  pattern;  that  of 
Noyon,  for  example,  served  as  a  model  for  those  of  Beauvais, 
St.  Quentin,  etc.    I  doubt,  however,  whether  example  had  so 


CIVILIZATION    IN    EUROPE  113 

much  influence  as  has  been  supposed.  Communications  were 
difficuh  and  rare,  and  hearsay  vague  and  transient ;  it  is  more 
likely  that  the  insurrection  was  the  result  of  a  similar  situation, 
and  of  a  general  and  spontaneous  movement.  When  I  say 
general,  I  mean  to  say  that  it  took  place  almost  everywhere; 
for,  I  repeat,  that  the  movement  was  not  unanimous  and  con- 
certed, all  was  special  and  local;  each  borough  was  insurgent 
against  its  lord  upon  its  own  account;  all  passed  in  its  own 
locality. 

The  vicissitudes  of  the  struggle  were  great.  Not  only  did 
success  alternate,  but  even  when  peace  seemed  established, 
after  the  charter  had  been  sworn  to  by  each  party,  it  was 
violated  and  eluded  in  every  way.  The  kings  played  a  great 
part  in  the  alternations  of  this  struggle.  Of  this  I  shall  speak 
in  detail  when  I  treat  of  royalty  itself.  Its  influence  in  the 
movement  of  communal  enfranchisement  has  been  sometimes 
praised,  perhaps  too  highly;  sometimes,  I  think,  too  much 
undervalued,  and  sometimes  denied.  I  shall  confine  myself  at 
present  to  saying  that  it  frequently  interfered,  sometimes  in- 
voked by  the  boroughs  and  sometimes  by  the  lords;  that  it 
has  often  played  contrary  parts;  that  it  has  acted  sometimes 
on  one  principle,  sometimes  on  another ;  that  it  has  unceasingly 
changed  its  intentions,  designs,  and  conduct;  but  that,  upon 
the  whole,  it  has  done  much,  and  with  more  of  good  than  of 
evil  effect. 

Despite  these  vicissitudes,  despite  the  continual  violations  of 
charters,  the  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs  was  consum- 
mated in  the  twelfth  century.  All  Europe,  and  especially 
France,  which  for  a  century  had  been  covered  with  insurrec- 
tions, was  covered  with  charters  more  or  less  favorable;  the 
corporations  enjoyed  them  with  more  or  less  security,  but  still 
they  enjoyed  them.  The  fact  prevailed,  and  the  right  was 
established. 

Let  us  now  attempt  to  discover  the  immediate  results  of 
this  great  fact,  and  what  changes  it  introduced  into  the  con- 
dition of  the  burgesses,  in  the  midst  of  society. 

In  the  first  place,  it  changed  nothing,  at  least  not  in  the 
commencement,  in  the  relations  of  the  burgesses  with  the  gen- 
eral government  of  the  country — with  what  we  of  the  present 
day  call  the  state;  they  interfered  no  more  in  it  than  hereto- 
fore, all  remained  local,  inclosed  within  the  limits  of  the  fief. 

One  circumstance,  however,  should  modify  this  assertion,  a 
bond  now  began  to  be  established  between  the  citizens  and  the 
king.  At  times  the  burgesses  had  invoked  the  aid  of  the 
king  against  their  lord,  or  his  guarantee,  when  the  charter 
was  promised  or  sworn  to.  At  other  times,  the  lords  had 
invoked  the  judgment  of  the  king  between  themselves  and  th^ 
8 


114 


GUIZOT 


citizens.  At  the  demand  of  either  one  or  other  of  the  parties, 
in  a  multitude  of  different  causes,  royalty  had  interfered  in  the 
quarrel;  from  thence  resulted  a  frequent  relation,  and  some- 
times a  rather  intimate  one,  between  the  burgesses  and  the 
king.  It  was  by  this  relation  that  the  burgesses  approached 
the  center  of  the  state,  and  began  to  have  a  connection  with 
the  general  government. 

Notwithstanding  that  all  remained  local,  a  new  and  gen- 
eral class  was  created  by  the  enfranchisement.  No  coalition 
had  existed  between  the  citizens;  they  had,  as  a  class,  no 
common  and  public  existence.  But  the  country  was  filled 
with  men  in  the  same  situation,  having  the  same  interests  and 
the  same  manners,  between  whom  a  certain  bond  of  unity  could 
not  fail  of  being  gradually  established,  which  should  give  rise 
to  the  bourgeoisie.  The  formation  of  a  great  social  class,  the 
bourgeoisie,  was  the  necessary  result  of  the  local  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  burghers. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  this  class  was  at  this  time 
that  which  it  has  since  become.  Not  only  has  its  situation 
changed,  but  its  elements  were  entirely  different:  in  the 
twelfth  century  it  consisted  almost  entirely  of  merchants, 
traders  carrying  on  a  petty  commerce,  and  of  small  proprietors, 
either  of  land  or  houses,  who  had  taken  up  their  residence 
in  the  town.  Three  centuries  after,  the  bourgeoisie  compre- 
hended, besides,  advocates,  physicians,  learned  men  of  all  sorts, 
and  all  the  local  magistrates.  The  bourgeoisie  was  formed 
gradually,  and  of  very  different  elements ;  as  a  general  thing, 
in  its  history  no  account  is  given  of  its  succession  or  diversity. 
Wherever  the  bourgeoisie  is  spoken  of,  it  seems  to  be  sup- 
posed that  at  all  epochs  it  was  composed  of  the  same  elements. 
This  is  an  absurd  supposition.  It  is  perhaps  in  the  diversity 
of  its  composition  at  different  epochs  of  history  that  we  should 
look  for  the  secret  of  its  destiny.  So  long  as  it  did  not  in- 
clude magistrates  nor  men  of  letters,  so  long  as  it  was  not  what 
it  became  in  the  sixteenth  century,  it  possessed  neither  the 
same  importance  nor  the  same  character  in  the  state.  To 
comprehend  the  vicissitudes  of  its  fortune  and  power,  it  is 
necessary  to  observe  in  its  bosom  the  successive  rise  of  new 
professions,  new  moral  positions,  and  a  new  intellectual  state. 
In  the  twelfth  century,  I  repeat,  it  was  composed  of  only  the 
small  merchants,  who  retired  into  the  towns  after  having  made 
their  purchases  and  sales,  and  of  the  proprietors  of  houses  and 
small  domains  who  had  fixed  their  residence  there.  Here 
we  see  the  European  burgher  class  in  its  first  elements. 

The  third  great  consequence  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
commons  was  the  contest  of  classes,  a  contest  which  constitutes 
the  fact  itself,  and  which  fills  modern  history.     Modern  Europe 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  115 

was  born  from  the  struggle  of  the  various  classes  of  society. 
Elsewhere,  as  I  have  already  observed,  this  struggle  led  to  very 
different  results:  in  Asia,  for  example,  one  class  completely 
triumphed,  and  the  government  of  castes  succeeded  to  that  of 
classes,  and  society  sunk  into  immobility.  Thank  God,  none  of 
this  has  happened  in  Europe.  Neither  of  the  classes  has  been 
able  to  conquer  or  subdue  the  others ;  the  struggle,  instead  of  be- 
coming a  principle  of  immobility,  has  been  a  cause  of  prog- 
ress; the  relations  of  the  principal  classes  among  themselves, 
the  necessity  under  which  they  found  themselves  of  combat- 
ing and  yielding  by  turns;  the  variety  of  their  interests  and 
passions,  the  desire  to  conquer  without  the  power  to  satisfy  it ; 
from  all  this  has  arisen  perhaps  the  most  energetic  and  fertile 
principle  of  the  development  of  European  civilization.  The 
classes  have  incessantly  struggled;  they  detested  each  other; 
an  utter  diversity  of  situation,  of  interests,  and  of  manners, 
produced  between  them  a  profound  moral  hostility:  and  yet 
they  have  progressively  approached  nearer,  come  to  an  under- 
standing, and  assimilated ;  every  European  nation  has  seen 
the  birth  and  development  in  its  bosom  of  a  certain  universal 
spirit,  a  certain  community  of  interests,  ideas,  and  sentiments, 
which  have  triumphed  over  diversity  and  war.  In  France,  for 
example,  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  the  social 
and  moral  separation  of  the  classes  was  still  very  profound; 
yet  the  fusion  was  advancing;  still,  without  doubt,  at  that 
time  there  was  a  veritable  French  nation,  not  an  exclusive 
class,  but  which  embraced  them  all,  and  in  which  all  were 
animated  by  a  certain  sentiment  in  common,  having  a  com- 
mon social  existence,  strongly  impressed,  in  a  word,  with  na- 
tionality. Thus,  from  the  bosom  of  variety,  enmity  and  war 
has  arisen  in  modern  Europe  the  national  unity  so  striking  in 
the  present  day,  and  which  tends  to  develop  and  refine  itself, 
from  day  to  day,  with  still  greater  brilliancy. 

Such  are  the  great,  external,  apparent  and  social  effects  of 
the  revolution  which  at  present  occupies  us.  Let  us  investigate 
its  moral  effects,  what  changes  it  brought  about  in  the  soul 
of  the  citizens  themselves,  what  they  became,  what,  in  fact, 
they  necessarily  became  morally  in  their  new  situation. 

There  is  a  fact  by  which  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck 
while  contemplating  the  relation  of  the  burghers  toward  the 
state  in  general,  the  government  of  the  state,  and  the  general 
interests  of  the  country,  not  only  in  the  twelfth  century,  but 
also  in  subsequent  ages;  I  mean  the  prodigious  timidity  of 
the  citizens,  their  humility,  the  excessive  modesty  of  their 
pretensions  as  to  the  government  of  the  country,  and  the  facility 
with  which  they  contented  themselves.  Nothing  is  seen  among 
them  of  the  true  political  spirit  which  aspires  to  influence, 


ii6  GUIZOT 

reform  and  govern ;  nothing  which  gives  proof  of  boldness  of 
thought  or  grandeur  of  ambition ;  one  might  call  them  sensible- 
minded,  honest,  freed  men. 

There  are  but  two  sources  in  the  sphere  of  politics  from 
which  greatness  of  ambition  or  firmness  of  thought  can  arise. 
It  is  necessary  to  have  either  the  feeling  of  immense  im- 
portance, of  great  power  exercised  upon  the  destiny  of  others, 
and  in  a  vast  extent — or  else  it  is  necessary  to  bear  within  one's 
self  a  feeling  of  complete  individual  independence,  a  confidence 
in  one's  own  liberty,  a  conviction  of  a  destiny  foreign  to  all 
will  but  that  of  the  man  himself.  To  one  or  other  of  these 
two  conditions  seem  to  belong  boldness  of  thought,  greatness 
of  ambition,  the  desire  of  acting  in  an  enlarged  sphere,  and 
of  obtaining  great  results. 

Neither  one  nor  the  other  of  these  conditions  entered  into 
the  condition  of  the  burghers  of  the  middle  ages.  These,  as 
you  have  just  seen,  were  only  important  to  themselves;  they 
exercised  no  sensible  influence  beyond  their  own  town,  or  upon 
the  state  in  general.  Nor  could  they  have  any  great  senti- 
ment of  individual  independence.  It  was  in  vain  that  they 
conquered,  in  vain  that  they  obtained  a  charter.  The  citizen 
of  a  town,  in  comparing  himself  with  the  inferior  lord  who 
dwelt  near  him,  and  who  had  just  been  conquered,  was  not 
the  less  sensible  of  his  extreme  inferiority;  he  was  not  filled 
with  the  haughty  sentiment  of  independence  which  animated 
the  proprietor  of  the  fief;  he  held  not  his  portion  of  liberty 
from  himself  alone,  but  from  his  association  with  others;  a 
difficult  and  precarious  succor.  Hence  that  character  of  re- 
serve, of  timidity  of  spirit,  of  retiring  modesty  and  humility  of 
language,  even  in  conjunction  with  a  firmness  of  conduct, 
which  is  so  deeply  imprinted  in  the  life  of  the  citizens,  not 
only  in  the  twelfth  century,  but  even  of  their  descendants. 
They  had  no  taste  for  great  enterprises,  and  when  fate  forced 
them  among  them,  they  were  uneasy  and  embarrassed ;  the 
responsibility  annoyed  them ;  they  felt  that  they  were  out  of 
their  sphere  of  action,  and  wished  to  return  to  it ;  they  there- 
fore treated  on  moderate  terms.  Thus  one  finds  in  the  course 
of  European  history,  especially  of  France,  that  the  bourgeoisie 
has  been  esteemed,  considered,  flattered,  and  even  respected, 
but  rarely  feared ;  it  has  rarely  produced  upon  its  adversaries 
an  impression  of  a  great  and  haughty  power,  of  a  truly  political 
power.  There  is  nothing  to  be  surprised  at  in  this  weakness 
of  the  modern  bourgeoisie;  its  principal  cause  lay  in  its  very 
origin,  and  in  the  circumstances  of  its  enfranchisement,  which 
I  have  just  placed  before  you.  A  high  ambition,  independently 
of  social  conditions,  enlargement  and  firmness  of  political 
thought,  the  desire  to  participate  in  the  affairs  of  the  country, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  117 

the  full  consciousness  of  the  greatness  of  man  as  man,  and 
of  the  power  which  belongs  to  him,  if  he  is  capable  of  exercis- 
ing it,  these  are  in  Europe  sentiments  and  dispositions  entirely 
modern,  the  fruit  of  modern  civilization,  the  fruit  of  that 
glorious  and  powerful  universality  which  characterizes  it,  and 
which  cannot  fail  of  insuring  to  the  public  an  influence  and 
weight  in  the  government  of  the  country,  which  were  always 
wanting,  and  necessarily  so,  to  the  burghers  our  ancestors. 

On  the  other  hand,  they  acquired  and  displayed,  in  the 
struggle  of  local  interests  which  they  had  to  maintain  in  their 
narrow  stage,  a  degree  of  energy,  devotedness,  perseverance 
and  patience  which  has  never  been  surpassed.  The  difficulty  of 
the  enterprise  was  such,  and  such  the  perils  which  they  had 
to  strive  against,  that  a  display  of  unexampled  courage  was 
necessary.  In  the  present  day,  a  very  false  idea  is  formed  of 
the  life  of  the  burghers  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries. 
You  have  read  in  one  of  the  novels  of  Walter  Scott,  "  Quentin 
Durward,"  the  representation  he  has  given  of  the  burgomaster 
of  Liege ;  he  has  made  of  him  a  regular  burgher  in  a  comedy, 
fat,  indolent,  without  experience  or  boldness,  and  wholly  oc- 
cupied in  passing  his  life  easily.  Whereas,  the  burghers  of 
this  period  always  had  a  coat  of  mail  upon  their  breast,  a  pike 
in  their  hand;  their  life  was  as  tempestuous,  as  warlike  and 
as  hardy  as  that  of  the  lords  with  whom  they  fought.  It 
was  in  these  continual  perils,  in  struggling  against  all  the 
difficulties  of  practical  life,  that  they  acquired  that  manly  char- 
acter and  that  obstinate  energy  which  is,  in  a  measure,  lost  in 
the  soft  activity  of  modern  times. 

None  of  these  social  or  moral  efforts  of  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  the  boroughs  had  attained  their  development  in  the 
twelfth  century;  it  is  in  the  following  centuries  that  they 
distinctly  appeared,  and  are  easily  discernible.  It  is  certain, 
however,  that  the  germ  was  laid  in  the  original  situation  of 
the  boroughs,  in  the  manner  of  their  enfranchisement,  and 
the  place  then  taken  by  the  burghers  in  society.  I  was,  there- 
fore, right  in  placing  them  before  you  alone.  Let  us  now 
investigate  the  interior  of  the  borough  of  the  twelfth  century ; 
let  us  see  how  it  was  governed,  what  principles  and  facts 
dominated  in  the  relations  of  the  citizens  among  themselves. 

You  will  recollect  that  in  speaking  of  the  municipal  system, 
bequeathed  by  the  Roman  Empire  to  the  modern  world,  I 
told  you  that  the  Roman  Empire  was  a  great  coalition  of 
municipalities,  formerly  sovereign  municipalities  like  Rome 
itself.  Each  of  these  towns  had  originally  possessed  the  same 
existence  as  Rome,  had  once  been  a  small  independent  republic, 
making  peace  and  war,  and  governing  itself  as  it  thought 
proper.     In  proportion  as  they  became  incorporated  with  the 


1x8  GUIZOT 

Roman  Empire  the  rights  which  constitute  sovereignty,  the 
right  of  peace  and  war,  the  right  of  legislation,  the  right  of 
taxation,  etc.,  left  each  town  and  centred  in  Rome.  There  re- 
mained but  one  sovereign  municipality,  Rome,  reigning  over 
a  large  number  of  municipalities  which  had  now  only  a  civil 
existence.  The  municipal  system  changed  its  character;  and 
instead  of  being  a  political  government  and  a  system  of  sover- 
eignty, it  became  a  mode  of  administration. 

This  was  the  great  revolution  which  was  consummated  under 
the  Roman  Empire.  The  municipal  system  became  a  mode  of 
administration,  was  reduced  to  the  government  of  local  affairs 
and  the  civic  interests  of  the  city.  This  was  the  condition  in 
which  the  towns  and  their  institutions  were  left  at  the  fall  of 
the  Roman  Empire.  In  the  midst  of  the  chaos  and  barbarism, 
all  ideas,  as  well  as  facts,  were  in  utter  confusion;  all  the 
attributes  of  sovereignty  and  of  the  administration  were  con- 
founded. These  distinctions  were  no  longer  attended  to.  Af- 
fairs were  abandoned  to  the  course  of  necessity.  There  was 
a  sovereign,  or  an  administrator,  in  each  locality,  according 
to  circumstances.  When  the  towns  rose  in  insurrection  to 
recover  some  security,  they  took  upon  themselves  the  sover- 
eignty. It  was  not  in  any  way  for  the  purpose  of  following  out 
a  political  theory,  nor  from  a  feeling  of  their  dignity ;  it  was 
that  they  might  have  the  means  of  resisting  the  lords  against 
whom  they  rebelled  that  they  appropriated  to  themselves  the 
right  of  levying  militia,  of  taxations  for  the  purposes  of  war, 
of  themselves  nominating  their  chiefs  and  magistrates;  in  a 
word,  of  governing  themselves.  The  government  in  the  interior 
of  the  towns  was  the  means  of  defence  and  security.  Thus 
sovereignty  re-entered  the  municipal  system,  from  which  it  had 
been  eradicated  by  the  conquests  of  Rome.  The  boroughs 
again  became  sovereign.  We  have  here  the  political  character 
of  their  enfranchisement. 

It  does  not  follow  that  this  sovereignty  was  complete.  It 
always  retained  some  trace  of  external  sovereignty:  some- 
times the  lord  preserved  to  himself  the  right  of  sending 
a  magistrate  into  the  town,  who  took  for  his  assessors  the 
municipal  magistrates;  sometimes  he  possessed  the  right  of 
receiving  certain  revenues ;  elsewhere  a  tribute  was  secured  to 
him.  Sometimes  the  external  sovereignty  of  the  community 
lay  in  the  hands  of  the  king. 

The  boroughs  themselves  having  entered  within  the  frame 
of  feudalism  had  vassals,  became  suzerains,  and  by  virtue  of 
this  title  partly  possessed  themselves  of  the  sovereignty  which 
was  inherent  in  the  lord  paramount.  This  caused  a  con- 
fusion between  the  rights  which  they  had  from  their  feudal 
position,  and  those  which  they  had  conquered  by  their  insur- 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  119 

rections ;  and  under  this  double  title  the  sovereignty  belonged 
to  them. 

Thus  we  see,  as  far  as  can  be  judged  from  very  deficient 
monuments,  how  government  was  administered,  at  least  in  the 
early  ages  in  the  interior  of  a  borough.  The  totality  of  the 
inhabitants  formed  the  assembly  of  the  borough ;  all  those  who 
had  sworn  the  borough  oath  (and  whoever  lived  within  the 
walls  was  obliged  to  do  so)  were  convoked  by  the  ringing 
of  a  bell  to  the  general  assembly.  It  was  there  that  they 
nominated  the  magistrates.  The  number  and  form  of  the  mag- 
istracy were  very  various.  The  magistrates  being  once  nomi- 
nated, the  assembly  was  dissolved,  and  the  magistrates  gov- 
erned almost  alone,  somewhat  arbitrarily,  and  without  any 
other  responsibility  than  that  of  the  new  elections  or  popular 
riots,  which  were  the  chief  mode  of  responsibility  in  those 
times. 

You  see  that  the  internal  organization  of  boroughs  reduced 
itself  to  two  very  simple  elements;  the  general  assembly  of 
the  inhabitants,  and  a  government  invested  with  an  almost 
arbitrary  power,  under  the  responsibility  of  insurrections  and 
riots.  It  was  impossible,  principally  from  the  state  of  man- 
ners, to  establish  a  regular  government,  with  veritable  guaran- 
tees for  order  and  duration.  The  greater  portion  of  the  popu- 
lation of  the  boroughs  was  in  a  state  of  ignorance,  brutality 
and  ferocity,  which  it  would  have  been  very  difficult  to  govern. 
After  a  short  time,  there  was  almost  as  little  security  in  the 
interior  of  the  borough  as  there  had  formerly  been  in  the 
relations  between  the  burgher  and  the  lord.  There  was  formed, 
however,  very  quickly  a  superior  bourgeoisie.  You  can  easily 
comprehend  the  causes.  The  state  of  ideas  and  of  social  rela- 
tions led  to  the  establishment  of  industrial  professions,  legally 
constituted  corporations.  The  system  of  privilege  was  intro- 
duced into  the  interior  of  boroughs,  and  from  this  a  great 
inequality  ensued.  There  was  shortly  everywhere  a  certain 
number  of  rich  and  important  burghers,  and  a  working  popu- 
lation more  or  less  numerous,  which,  in  spite  of  its  inferiority, 
had  an  important  influence  in  the  affairs  of  the  borough.  The 
boroughs  were  then  divided  into  a  high  bourgeoisie  and  a 
population  subject  to  all  the  errors  and  vices  of  a  populace. 
The  superior  bourgeoisie  found  itself  pressed  between  the  im- 
mense difficulty  of  governing  the  inferior  population,  and  the 
incessant  attempts  of  the  ancient  master  of  the  borough,  who 
sought  to  re-establish  his  power.  Such  was  its  situation,  not 
only  in  France  but  in  all  Europe,  down  to  the  si>fteenth  cen- 
tury. This  perhaps  has  been  the  chief  means  of  preventing 
the  corporations,  in  most  European  nations,  and  especially  in 
France,  from  possessing  all  the  important  political  influence 


I20  GUIZOT 

which  they  might  otherwise  have  had.  Two  principles  car- 
ried on  incessant  warfare  within  them ;  in  the  inferior  popula- 
tion, a  blind,  unbridled  and  ferocious  spirit  of  democracy; 
and  as  a  consequence,  in  the  superior  population,  a  spirit  of 
timidity  at  making  agreements,  an  excessive  facility  of  concilia- 
tion, whether  in  regard  to  the  king,  the  ancient  lords,  or  in  re- 
establishing some  peace  and  order  in  the  interior  of  the  bor- 
ough. Each  of  these  principles  could  not  but  tend  to  deprive 
the  corporation  of  any  great  influence  in  the  state. 

All  these  effects  were  not  visible  in  the  twelfth  century; 
still,  however,  one  might  foresee  them  in  the  very  character 
of  the  insurrection,  in  the  manner  of  its  commencement,  and  in 
the  condition  of  the  various  elements  of  the  communal  popu- 
lation. 

Such,  if  I  mistake  not,  are  the  principal  characteristics  and 
the  general  results  of  the  enfranchisement  of  the  boroughs 
and  of  their  internal  government.  I  forewarn  you  that  these 
facts  were  neither  so  uniform  nor  so  universal  as  I  have  broadly 
represented  them.  There  is  great  diversity  in  the  history  of 
boroughs  in  Europe.  For  example,  in  Italy  and  in  the  south 
of  France,  the  Roman  municipal  system  dominated ;  there  was 
not  merely  so  much  diversity  and  inequality  here  as  in  the  north, 
and  the  communal  organization  was  much  better,  either  by 
reason  of  the  Roman  traditions,  or  from  the  superior  condition 
of  the  population.  In  the  north  the  feudal  system  prevailed  in 
the  communal  existence ;  there,  all  was  subordinate  to  the 
struggle  against  the  lords.  The  boroughs  of  the  south  were 
more  occupied  with  their  internal  organization,  amelioration 
and  progress ;  they  thought  only  of  becoming  independent 
republics.  The  destiny  of  the  northern  boroughs,  in  France 
particularly,  showed  thmselves  more  and  more  incomplete  and 
destined  for  less  fine  developments.  If  we  glance  at  the  bor- 
oughs of  Germany,  Spain  and  England,  we  shall  find  in  them 
other  differences.  I  shall  not  enter  into  these  details ;  we  shall 
remark  some  of  them  as  we  advance  in  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion. In  their  origin,  all  things  are  nearly  confounded  under 
one  physiognomy;  it  is  only  by  successive  developments  that 
variety  shows  itself.  Then  commences  a  new  development 
which  urges  society  toward  free  and  high  unity,  the  glorious 
end  of  all  the  efforts  and  wishes  of  the  human  race. 


EIGHTH    LECTURE. 

I  HAVE  not  as  yet  explained  to  you  the  complete  plan  of 
my  course.  I  commenced  by  indicating  its  object;  I 
then  passed  in  review  European  civilization  without  con- 
sidering it  as  a  whole,  without  indicating  to  you  at  one  and 
the  same  time  the  point  of  departure,  the  route,  and  the  port, 
the  commencement,  the  middle  and  the  end.  We  have  now, 
however,  arrived  at  an  epoch  when  this  entire  view,  this  general 
sketch  of  the  region  which  we  survey,  has  become  necessary. 
The  times  which  have  hitherto  occupied  us  in  some  measure 
explain  themselves,  or  are  explained  by  immediate  and  evident 
results.  Those  upon  which  we  are  about  to  enter  would  not 
be  understood,  nor  even  would  they  excite  any  lively  interest, 
unless  they  are  connected  with  even  the  most  indirect  and 
distant  of  their  consequences. 

In  so  extensive  a  study,  moments  occur  when  we  can  no 
longer  consent  to  proceed  while  all  before  us  is  unknown  and 
dark.  We  wish  not  only  to  know  whence  we  have  come  and 
where  we  are,  but  also  to  what  point  we  tend.  This  is  what 
we  now  feel.  The  epoch  to  which  we  are  approaching  is  not 
intelligible,  nor  can  its  importance  be  appreciated  except  by 
the  relations  which  unite  it  to  modern  times.  Its  true  mean- 
ing is  not  evident  until  a  later  period. 

We  are  in  possession  of  almost  all  the  essential  elements 
of  European  civilization.  I  say  almost,  because  as  yet  I  have 
not  spoken  to  you  of  royalty.  The  decisive  crisis  of  the  de- 
velopment of  royalty  did  not  take  place  until  the  twelfth  or 
even  thirteenth  century.  It  was  not  until  then  that  the  institu- 
tion was  really  constituted,  and  that  it  began  to  occupy  a  definite 
place  in  modern  society.  I  have,  therefore,  not  treated  of  it 
earlier;  it  will  form  the  subject  of  my  next  lecture.  With 
this  exception,  I  repeat,  we  have  before  us  all  the  great  ele- 
ments of  European  civilization.  You  have  beheld  the  birth 
of  feudal  aristocracy,  of  the  church,  the  boroughs;  you  have 
seen  the  institutions  which  should  correspond  to  these  facts; 
and  not  only  the  institutions,  but  also  the  principles  and  ideas 
which  these  facts  should  raise  up  in  the  mind.  Thus,  while 
treating  of  feudalism,  you  were  present  at  the  cradle  of  the 
modern  family,  at  the  hearth  of  domestic  life ;  you  have  com- 

121 


122  GUIZOT 

prehended,  in  all  its  energy,  the  sentiment  of  individual  inde- 
pendence, and  the  place  which  it  has  held  in  our  civilization. 
With  regard  to  the  church,  you  have  seen  the  purely  religious 
society  rise  up,  its  relations  with  the  civil  society,  the  theo- 
cratical  principle,  the  separation  of  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
powers,  the  first  blows  of  persecutions,  and  the  first  cries  of 
the  liberty  of  conscience.  The  rising  boroughs  have  shown 
you  glimpses  of  an  association  founded  upon  altogether  other 
principles  than  those  of  feudalism  and  the  church,  the  diversity 
of  the  social  classes,  their  struggles,  the  first  and  profound 
characteristics  of  modern  burgher  manners,  timidity  of  spirit 
side  by  side  with  energy  of  soul,  the  demagogue  spirit  side 
by  side  with  the  legal  spirit.  In  a  word,  all  the  elements  which 
have  contributed  to  the  formation  of  European  society,  all  that 
it  has  been,  and,  so  to  speak,  all  that  it  has  suggested,  have 
already  met  your  view. 

Let  us  now  transport  ourselves  to  the  heart  of  modern  Europe. 
I  speak  not  of  existing  Europe,  after  the  prodigious  meta- 
morphoses which  we  have  witnessed,  but  of  Europe  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  I  ask  you,  do  you  recog- 
nize the  society  which  we  have  just  seen  in  the  twelfth  cent- 
ury? What  a  wonderful  difference!  I  have  already  dwelt 
upon  this  difference  as  regards  the  boroughs.  I  afterward  tried 
to  make  you  sensible  of  how  little  the  third  estate  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  resembled  that  of  the  twelfth.  If  we  make  the 
same  essay  upon  feudalism  and  the  church,  we  shall  be  struck 
with  the  same  metamorphosis.  There  was  no  more  resemblance 
between  the  nobility  at  the  court  of  Louis  XV  and  the  feudal 
aristocracy,  or  between  the  church  of  Cardinal  de  Bernis  and 
that  of  the  Abbot  Suger,  than  between  the  third  estate  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  the  bourgeoisie  of  the  twelfth  century. 
Between  these  two  epochs,  although  already  in  possession  of  all 
its  elements,  society  was  entirely  transformed. 

I  wish  to  establish  clearly  the  general  and  essential  character 
of  this  transformation.  From  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century 
society  contained  all  that  I  have  described.  It  possessed  kings, 
a  lay  aristocracy,  a  clergy,  burghers,  laborers,  religious  and 
civil  powers — in  a  word,  the  germs  of  everything  which  is 
necessary  to  form  a  nation  and  a  government,  and  yet  there 
was  neither  government  nor  nation.  Throughout  the  epoch 
upon  which  we  are  occupied  there  was  nothing  bearing  a 
resemblance  to  a  people,  properly  so  called,  nor  to  a  veritable 
government,  in  the  sense  which  the  words  have  for  us  in  the 
present  day.  We  have  encountered  a  multitude  of  particular 
forces,  of  special  facts,  and  local  institutions ;  but  nothing 
general  or  public;  no  policy,  properly  so  called,  nor  no  true 
nationality. 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  123 

Let  us  regard,  on  the  contrary,  in  Europe  of  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries;  we  shall  everywhere  see  two 
leading  figures  present  themselves  upon  the  scene  of  the  world, 
the  government  and  the  people.  The  action  of  a  universal 
power  upon  the  whole  country,  and  the  influence  of  the  coun- 
try upon  the  power  which  governs  it,  this  is  society,  this  is 
history:  the  relations  of  the  two  great  forces,  their  alliance 
or  their  struggle,  this  is  what  history  discovers  and  relates. 
The  nobility,  the  clergy  and  the  burghers,  all  these  particular 
classes  and  forces,  now  only  appear  in  a  secondary  rank, 
almost  like  shadows  effaced  by  those  two  great  bodies,  the 
people  and  its  government. 

This,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  essential  feature  which  dis- 
tinguishes modern  from  primitive  Europe;  this  is  the  meta- 
morphosis which  was  accomplished  from  the  thirteenth  to  the 
sixteenth  centuries. 

It  is  then  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  period  which  we  are  about  to  enter  upon,  that 
the  secret  of  this  must  be  sought  for;  it  is  the  distinctive 
character  of  this  epoch  that  it  was  employed  in  converting 
primitive  Europe  into  modern  Europe ;  and  hence  its  historical 
importance  and  interest.  If  it  is  not  considered  from  this 
point  of  view,  and  unless  we  everywhere  seek  what  has  arisen 
from  it,  not  only  will  it  not  be  understood,  but  we  shall  soon 
be  weary  of  and  annoyed  by  it.  Indeed,  viewed  in  itself,  and 
apart  from  its  results,  it  is  a  period  without  character,  a  period 
when  confusion  continues  to  increase,  without  our  being  able 
to  discover  its  causes,  a  period  of  movement  without  direction, 
and  of  agitation  without  result.  Royalty,  nobility,  clergy,  bour- 
geoisie, all  the  elements  of  social  order  seem  to  turn  in  the  same 
circle,  equally  incapable  of  progress  or  repose.  They  make  at- 
tempts of  all  kinds,  but  all  fail ;  they  attempt  to  settle  govern- 
ments and  to  estabhsh  public  liberties;  they  even  attempt  re- 
ligious reforms,  but  nothing  is  accomplished — nothing  per- 
fected. If  ever  the  human  race  has  been  abandoned  to  a  destiny, 
agitated  and  yet  stationary,  to  labor  incessant,  yet  barren  of 
effect,  it  was  between  the  thirteenth  and  the  fifteenth  centuries 
that  such  was  the  physiognomy  of  its  condition  and  its  history. 

I  know  of  but  one  work  in  which  this  physiogomy  is 
truly  shown,  the  "Histoire  des  Dues  de  Burgogne,"  by  M.  de 
Barante.  I  do  not  speak  of  the  truth  which  sparkles  in  the 
descriptions  of  manners,  or  in  the  detailed  recital  of  facts,  but 
of  that  universal  truth  which  makes  the  entire  book  a  faithful 
image,  a  sincere  mirror  of  the  whole  epoch,  of  which  it  at  the 
same  time  shows  the  movement  and  the  monotony. 

Considered,  on  the  contrary,  in  its  relation  to  that  which  fol- 
lows, as  the  transition  from  the  primitive  to  the  modern  Europe, 


124 


GUIZOT 


this  epoch  brightens  and  becomes  animated ;  we  discover  in  it  a 
totahty,  a  direction  and  a  progress ;  its  unity  and  interest  con- 
sist in  the  slow  and  secret  work  which  is  accomphshed  in  it. 

The  history  of  European  civilization  may  then  be  summed 
up  into  three  grand  periods :  First,  a  period  which  I  shall  call 
the  period  of  origins,  of  formation — a  time  when  the  various 
elements  of  our  society  freed  themselves  from  the  chaos,  took 
being,  and  showed  themselves  under  their  native  forms  with  the 
principles  which  animated  them.  This  period  extended  nearly 
to  the  twelfth  century.  Second,  the  second  period  is  a  time  of 
essay,  of  trial,  of  groping;  the  various  elements  of  the  social 
order  drew  near  each  other,  combined,  and,  as  it  were,  felt  each 
other,  without  the  power  to  bring  forth  anything  general,  reg- 
ular, or  durable.  This  state  was  not  ended,  properly  speaking, 
till  the  sixteenth  century.  Third,  the  period  of  development, 
properly  so  called,  when  society  in  Europe  took  a  definite  form, 
followed  a  determined  tendency,  and  progressed  rapidly  and 
universally  toward  a  clear  and  precise  end.  This  commenced  at 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  now  pursues  its  course. 

Such  appears  to  me  to  be  the  spectacle  of  European  civiliza- 
tion in  its  whole,  and  such  I  shall  endeavor  to  represent  it  to 
you.  It  is  the  second  period  that  we  enter  upon  now.  We  have 
to  seek  in  it  the  great  crises  and  determinative  causes  of  the 
social  transformation  which  has  been  the  result  of  it. 

The  crusades  constitute  the  first  great  event  which  presents 
itself  to  us,  which,  as  it  were,  opens  the  epoch  of  which  we 
speak.  They  commenced  at  the  eleventh  century,  and  extended 
over  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth.  Of  a  surety,  a  great  event; 
for  since  it  was  completed  it  has  not  ceased  to  occupy  philosophic 
historians  ;  even  before  reading  the  account  of  it,  all  have  fore- 
seen that  it  was  one  of  those  events  which  change  the  condition 
of  the  people,  and  which  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  study  in 
order  to  comprehend  the  general  course  of  facts. 

The  first  characteristic  of  the  crusades  is  their  universality; 
the  whole  of  Europe  joined  in  them — they  were  the  first  Euro- 
pean event.  Previously  to  the  crusades,  Europe  had  never  been 
excited  by  one  sentiment,  or  acted  in  one  cause ;  there  was  no 
Europe.  The  crusades  revealed  Christian  Europe.  The  French 
formed  the  vans  of  the  first  army  of  crusaders ;  but  there  were 
also  Germans,  Italians,  Spaniards,  and  English.  Observe  the 
second,  the  third  crusade ;  all  the  Christian  nations  engaged  in 
it.    Nothing  like  it  had  yet  been  seen. 

This  is  not  all :  just  as  the  crusades  form  an  European  event, 
so  in  each  country  do  they  form  a  national  event.  All  classes 
of  society  were  animated  with  the  same  impression,  obeyed  the 
same  idea,  abandoned  themselves  to  the  same  impulse.  Kings, 
lords,  priests,  burghers,  countrymen,  all  took  the  same  part,  the 


CIVILIZATION    IN   EUROPE  125 

same  interest  in  the  crusades.  The  moral  unity  of  nations  was 
shown — a  fact  as  novel  as  the  European  unity. 

When  such  events  happen  in  the  infancy  of  a  people,  at  a 
time  when  men  act  freely  and  spontaneously,  without  premedi- 
tation, without  political  intention  or  combination,  one  recognizes 
therein  what  history  calls  heroic  events — the  heroic  age  of  na- 
tions. In  fact,  the  crusades  constitute  the  heroic  event  of 
modern  Europe — a  movement  at  once  individual  and  general, 
national,  and  yet  unregulated. 

That  such  was  really  their  primitive  character  is  verified  by  all 
documents,  proved  by  all  facts.  Who  were  the  first  crusaders 
that  put  themselves  in  motion?  Crowds  of  the  populace,  who 
set  out  under  the  guidance  of  Peter  the  Hermit,  without  prepa- 
ration, without  guides,  and  without  chiefs,  followed  rather  than 
guided  by  a  few  obscure  knights ;  they  traversed  Germany,  the 
Greek  empire,  and  dispersed  or  perished  in  Asia  Minor. 

The  superior  class,  the  feudal  nobility,  in  their  turn  became 
eager  in  the  cause  of  the  crusade.  Under  the  command  of 
Godefroi  de  Bouillon,  the  lords  and  their  followers  set  out  full 
of  ardor.  When  they  had  traversed  Asia  Minor,  a  fit  of  indif- 
ference and  weariness  seized  the  chiefs  of  the  crusaders.  They 
cared  not  to  continue  their  route ;  they  united  to  make  conquests 
and  establish  themselves.  The  common  people  of  the  army  re- 
belled ;  they  wished  to  go  to  Jerusalem — the  deliverance  of  Jeru- 
salem was  the  aim  of  the  crusade ;  it  was  not  to  gain  principal- 
ities for  Raimond  de  Toulouse,  nor  for  Bohemond,  nor  for  any 
other,  that  the  crusaders  came.  The  popular,  national  and 
European  impulsion  was  superior  to  all  individual  wishes ;  the 
chiefs  had  not  sufficient  ascendancy  over  the  masses  to  subdue 
them  to  their  interests.  The  sovereigns,  who  had  remained 
strangers  to  the  first  crusade,  were  at  last  carried  away  by  the 
movement,  like  the  people.  The  great  crusades  of  the  twelfth 
century  were  commanded  by  kings. 

I  pass  at  once  to  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  People 
still  spoke  in  Europe  of  the  crusades,  they  even  preached  them 
with  ardor.  The  popes  excited  the  sovereigns  and  the  people 
— they  held  councils  in  recommendation  of  the  Holy  Land ;  but 
no  one  went  there — it  was  no  longer  cared  for.  Something 
had  passed  into  the  European  spirit  and  European  society  that 
put  an  end  to  the  crusades.  There  were  still  some  private  ex- 
peditions. A  few  lords,  a  few  bands,  still  set  out  for  Jerusalem ; 
but  the  general  movement  was  evidently  stopped ;  and  yet  it 
does  not  appear  that  either  the  necessity  or  the  facility  of  con- 
tinuing it  had  disappeared.  The  Moslems  triumphed  more  and 
more  in  Asia.  The  Christian  kingdom  founded  at  Jerusalem 
had  fallen  into  their  hands.  It  was  necessary  to  reconquer  it ; 
there  were  greater  means  of  success  than  they  had  at  the  com- 


126  GUIZOT 

mencement  of  the  crusades ;  a  large  number  of  Christians  were 
established,  and  still  powerful,  in  Asia  Minor,  Syria  and  Pales- 
tine. They  were  better  acquainted  with  the  means  of  travelling 
and  acting.  Still  nothing  could  revive  the  crusades.  It  was 
clear  that  the  two  great  forces  of  society — the  sovereigns  on 
one  side  and  the  people  on  the  other — were  averse  to  it. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  this  was  lassitude — that  Europe 
was  tired  of  thus  falling  upon  Asia.  We  must  come  to  an  un- 
derstanding upon  this  word  lassitude,  which  is  so  often  used 
upon  similar  occasions ;  it  is  strangely  inexact.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible that  human  generations  can  be  weary  with  what  they 
have  never  taken  part  in ;  weary  of  the  fatigues  undergone  by 
their  forefathers.  Weariness  is  personal,  it  cannot  be  trans- 
mitted like  a  heritage.  Men  in  the  thirteenth  century  were  not 
fatigued  by  the  crusades  of  the  twelfth,  they  were  influenced  by 
another  cause.  A  great  change  had  taken  place  in  ideas,  senti- 
ments, and  social  conditions.  There  were  no  longer  the  same 
wants  and  desires.  They  no  longer  thought  or  wished  the  same 
things.  It  is  these  political  or  moral  metamorphoses,  and  not 
weariness,  which  explain  the  different  conduct  of  successive 
generations.  The  pretended  lassitude  which  is  attributed  to 
them  is  a  false  metaphor. 

Two  great  causes,  one  moral  and  the  other  social,  threw 
Europe  into  the  crusades.  The  moral  cause,  as  you  know,  was 
the  impulsion  of  religious  sentiments  and  creeds.  Since  the  end 
of  the  seventh  century,  Christianity  had  been  struggling  against 
Mahommedanism ;  it  had  conquered  it  in  Europe  after  being 
dangerously  menaced ;  it  had  succeeded  in  confining  it  to  Spain. 
Thence  also  it  still  constantly  strove  to  expel  it.  The  crusades 
have  been  represented  as  a  kind  of  accident,  as  an  event  unfore- 
seen, unheard  of,  born  solely  of  the  recitals  of  pilgrims  on  their 
return  from  Jerusalem,  and  of  the  preaching  of  Peter  the  Hermit. 
It  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  crusades  were  the  continua- 
tion, the  zenith  of  the  grand  struggle  which  had  been  going  on 
for  four  centuries  between  Christianity  and  Mahommedanism. 
The  theatre  of  this  struggle  had  been  hitherto  in  Europe :  it 
was  now  transported  into  Asia.  If  I  put  any  value  upon  those 
comparisons  and  parallels,  into  which  some  people  delight  at 
times  to  press,  suitable  or  not,  historical  facts,  I  might  show  you 
Christianity  running  precisely  the  same  career  in  Asia,  and 
undergoing  the  same  destiny  as  Mahommedanism  in  Europe. 
Mahommedanism  was  established  in  Spain,  and  had  there  con- 
quered and  founded  a  kingdom  and  principalities.  The  Chris- 
tians did  the  same  in  Asia.  They  there  found  themselves  with 
regard  to  Mahommedans  in  the  same  situation  as  the  latter  in 
Spain  with  regard  to  the  Christians.  The  kingdom  of  Jerusa- 
lem and  the  kingdom  of  Grenada  correspond  to  each  other. 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  127 

But  these  similitudes  are  of  little  importance.  The  great  fact 
is  the  struggle  of  the  two  social  and  religious  systems ;  and  of 
this  the  crusades  was  the  chief  crisis.  In  that  lies  their  historical 
character,  the  connecting  link  which  attaches  them  to  the  total- 
ity of  facts. 

There  was  another  cause,  the  social  state  of  Europe  in  the 
eleventh  century,  which  no  less  contributed  to  their  outburst. 
I  have  been  careful  to  explain  why,  between  the  fifth  and  the 
eleventh  century,  nothing  general  could  be  established  in 
Europe.  I  have  attempted  to  show  how  every  thing  had  be- 
come local,  how  states,  existences,  minds,  were  confined  within 
a  very  limited  horizon.  It  was  thus  feudalism  had  prevailed. 
After  some  time  an  horizon  so  restricted  did  not  suffice ;  human 
thought  and  activity  desired  to  pass  beyond  the  circle  in  which 
they  had  been  confined.  The  wandering  life  had  ceased,  but  not 
the  inclination  for  its  excitement  and  adventures.  The  people 
rushed  into  the  crusades  as  into  a  new  existence,  more  enlarged 
and  varied,  which  at  one  time  recalled  the  ancient  liberty  of 
barbarism  as  others  opened  out  the  perspective  of  a  vast  future. 

Such,  I  believe,  were  the  two  determining  causes  of  the  cru- 
sades of  the  twelfth  century.  At  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  cent- 
ury neither  of  these  causes  existed.  Men  and  society  were  so 
much  changed  that  neither  the  moral  impulsion  nor  the  social 
need  which  had  precipitated  Europe  upon  Asia  was  any  longer 
felt.  I  do  not  know  if  many  of  you  have  read  the  original 
historians  of  the  crusades,  or  whether  it  has  ever  occurred  to 
you  to  compare  the  contemporaneous  chroniclers  of  the  first 
crusades  with  those  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cent- 
uries, for  example,  Albert  d'Aix,  Robert  the  Monk  and  Ray- 
mond d'Agiles,  who  took  part  in  the  first  crusade,  with  William 
of  Tyre  and  James  de  Vitry.  When  we  compare  these  two 
classes  of  writers,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  struck  by  the  distance 
which  separates  them.  The  first  are  animated  chroniclers,  full 
of  vivid  imagination,  who  recount  the  events  of  the  crusades 
with  passion.  But  they  are,  at  the  same  time,  men  of  very  nar- 
row minds,  without  an  idea  beyond  the  little  sphere  in  which 
they  have  lived ;  strangers  to  all  science,  full  of  prejudices,  and 
incapable  of  forming  any  judgment  whatever  upon  what  passes 
around  them,  or  upon  the  events  which  they  relate.  Open, 
on  the  contrary,  the  history  of  the  crusades  by  William  of  Tyre : 
you  will  be  surprised  to  find  almost  an  historian  of  modern 
times,  a  mind  developed,  extensive  and  free,  a  rare  political 
understanding  of  events,  completeness  of  views,  a  judgment 
bearing  upon  causes  and  effects.  James  de  Vitry  affords  an 
example  of  a  different  kind  of  development;  he  is  a  scholar, 
who  not  only  concerns  himself  with  what  has  reference  to  the 
crusades,  but  also  occupies  himself  with  manners,  geography, 


128  GUIZOT 

ethnography,  natural  history ;  who  observes  and  describes  the 
country.  In  a  word,  between  the  chroniclers  of  the  first  cru- 
sades and  the  historians  of  the  last,  there  is  an  immense  interval, 
which  indicates  a  veritable  revolution  in  mind. 

This  revolution  is  above  all  seen  in  the  manner  in  which  each 
speaks  of  the  Mahommedans.  To  the  first  chroniclers,  and  con- 
sequently to  the  first  crusaders,  of  whom  the  first  chroniclers  are 
but  the  expression,  the  Mahommedans  are  only  an  object  of 
hatred.  It  is  evident  that  they  knew  nothing  of  them,  that  they 
weighed  them  not,  considered  them  not,  except  under  the  point 
of  view  of  the  religious  hostility  which  existed  between  them ; 
we  discover  no  trace  of  any  social  relation ;  they  detested  and 
fought  them,  and  that  was  all.  William  of  Tyre,  James  de 
Vitry,  and  Bernard  the  Treasurer,  speak  quite  differently  of  the 
Mussulmans:  one  feels  that,  although  fighting  them,  they  do 
not  look  upon  them  as  mere  monsters ;  that  to  a  certain  point 
they  have  entered  into  their  ideas;  that  they  have  lived  with 
them,  that  there  is  a  sort  of  relation,  and  even  a  kind  of  sym- 
pathy established  between  them.  William  of  Tyre  warmly  eulo- 
gizes Noureddin — Bernard  the  Treasurer,  Saladin.  They  even 
go  far  as  to  compare  the  manners  and  conduct  of  the  Mussul- 
mans with  those  of  the  Christians ;  they  take  advantage  of  the 
Mussulmans  to  satirize  the  Christians,  as  Tacitus  painted  the 
manners  of  the  Germans  in  contrast  with  the  manners  of  the 
Romans.  You  see  how  enormous  the  change  between  the  two 
epochs  must  have  been,  when  you  find  in  the  last,  with  regard 
to  the  enemies  of  the  Christians,  to  those  against  whom  the  cru- 
sades were  directed,  a  liberty  and  impartiality  of  spirit  which 
would  have  filled  the  first  crusaders  with  surprise  and  indigna- 
tion. 

This,  then,  was  the  first  and  principal  effect  of  the  crusades, 
a  great  step  toward  the  enfranchisement  of  mind,  a  great  prog- 
ress toward  more  extensive  and  liberal  ideas.  Commenced  in 
the  name  and  under  the  influence  of  religious  creeds,  the  cru- 
sades removed  from  religious  ideas,  I  will  not  say  their  legiti- 
mate influence,  but  the  exclusive  and  despotic  possession  of 
the  human  mind.  This  result,  doubtless  altogether  unforeseen, 
was  born  of  many  causes.  The  first  is  evidently  the  novelty, 
extension  and  variety  of  the  spectacle  which  was  opened  to  the 
view  of  the  crusaders.  It  happened  with  them  as  with  travel- 
lers. It  is  a  common  saying  that  the  mind  of  travellers  becomes 
enlarged  ;  that  the  habit  of  observing  various  nations  and  man- 
ners, and  different  opinions,  extends  the  ideas,  and  frees  the 
judgment  from  old  prejudices.  The  same  fact  was  accom- 
plished among  these  travelling  nations  who  were  caller  cru- 
saders: their  minds  were  opened  and  elevated,  by  seeing  a 
multitude  of  different  things,  and  by  observing  other  manners 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  129 

than  their  own.  They  also  found  themselves  in  juxtaposition 
with  two  civilizations,  not  only  different  from  their  own,  but 
more  advanced ;  the  Greek  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Mahom- 
medan  on  the  other.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Greek 
society,  although  enervated,  perverted,  and  falling  into  decay, 
had  upon  the  crusaders  the  effect  of  a  more  advanced,  polished 
and  enlightened  society  than  their  own.  The  Mahommedan 
society  afforded  them  a  spectacle  of  the  same  nature.  It  is 
curious  to  observe  in  the  old  chroniclers  the  impression  which 
the  crusaders  made  upon  the  Mussulmans;  these  latter  re- 
garded them  at  first  as  barbarians,  as  the  rudest,  most  ferocious 
and  most  stupid  class  of  men  they  had  ever  seen.  The  cru- 
saders, on  their  part,  were  struck  with  the  riches  and  elegance 
of  manners  of  the  Mussulmans.  To  this  first  impression  suc- 
ceeded frequent  relations  between  the  two  people.  These  ex- 
tended and  became  much  more  important  than  is  generally 
supposed.  Not  only  had  the  Christians  of  the  east  habitual 
relations  with  the  Mussulmans,  but  the  west  and  the  east  be- 
came acquainted,  visited  and  mixed  with  each  other.  It  is  not 
long  since  that  one  of  those  scholars  who  honor  France  in 
the  eyes  of  Europe,  M.  Abel  Remusat,  discovered  the  existence 
of  relations  between  the  Mongol  emperors  and  the  Christian 
kings.  Mongol  ambassadors  were  sent  to  the  Frank  kings, 
to  Saint  Louis  among  others,  to  treat  for  an  alliance  with  them, 
and  to  recommence  the  crusades  in  the  common  interest  of  the 
Mongols  and  the  Christians  against  the  Turks.  And  not  only 
were  diplomatic  and  official  relations  thus  established  between 
the  sovereigns ;  frequent  and  various  national  relations  were 
formed.    I  quote  the  words  of  M.  Abel  Remusat.* 

"  Many  Italian,  French  and  Flemish  monks  were  charged 
with  diplomatic  missions  to  the  Great  Khan.  Mongols  of 
distinction  came  to  Rome,  Barcelona,  Valentia,  Lyons,  Paris, 
London,  Northampton ;  and  a  Franciscan  of  the  kingdom  of 
Naples  was  archbishop  of  Pekin.  His  successor  was  a  pro- 
fessor of  theology  of  the  faculty  of  Paris.  But  how  many 
others,  less  known,  were  drawn  after  these,  either  as  slaves  or 
attracted  by  the  desire  for  gain,  or  guided  by  curiosity  into 
countries  till  then  unknown !  Chance  has  preserved  the  names 
of  some:  the  first  who  came  to  visit  the  King  of  Hungary, 
on  the  part  of  the  Tartars,  was  an  Englishman,  banished  from 
his  country  for  certain  crimes,  and  who,  after  wandering  all 
over  Asia,  ended  by  taking  service  among  the  Mongols.  A 
Flemish  shoemaker  met  in  the  depths  of  Tartary  a  woman 
from  Metz,  named  Paquette,  who  had  been  carried  off  from 

*M/moires  sur  les   Relations  Politiques   des  Princes    Chretiens  avec   les 
Empereurs  Mongols.     Deuxieme  Memoire,  pp.  1 54- 15  7* 
9 


ISO 


GUIZOT 


Hungary;  a  Parisian  goldsmith,  whose  brother  was  estab- 
lished at  Paris,  upon  the  great  bridge,  and  a  young  man  from 
the  environs  of  Rouen,  who  had  been  at  the  taking  of  Bel- 
grade. He  saw,  also,  Russians,  Hungarians  and  Flemings. 
A  chorister,  named  Robert,  after  having  traveled  over  Eastern 
Asia,  returned  to  finish  his  days  in  the  cathedral  of  Chartres. 
A  Tartar  was  purveyor  of  helmets  in  the  army  of  Philip  the 
Handsome ;  John  de  Plancarpin  found  near  Gayouk  a  Russian 
gentleman,  whom  he  calls  Temer,  who  was  serving  as  an  in- 
terpreter; many  merchants  of  Breslau,  Poland  and  Austria 
accompanied  him  on  his  journed  to  Tartary.  Others  returned 
with  him  by  way  of  Russia ;  these  were  Genoese,  Pisans  and 
Venetians.  Two  merchants,  whom  chance  had  led  to  Bok- 
hara, consented  to  follow  a  Mongol  ambassador  sent  by  Koul- 
agou  to  Khoubilai.  They  sojourned  several  years  both  in 
China  and  Tartary,  returned  with  letters  from  the  Great  Khan 
to  the  Pope;  again  returned  to  the  Great  Khan,  taking  with 
them  the  son  of  one  of  them,  the  celebrated  Marco  Polo,  and 
again  quitted  the  court  of  Khoubilai  to  return  to  Venice. 
Travels  of  this  kind  were  not  less  frequent  in  the  following 
century.  Among  the  number  are  those  of  Sir  John  Mande- 
ville,  an  English  physician,  of  Oderic  of  Friula,  of  Pegoletti, 
of  William  de  Bouldeselle,  and  several  others,  and  we  may 
suppose  that  those  whose  memorials  are  preserved,  form  but 
the  least  part  of  what  were  undertaken,  and  that  there  were 
at  this  period  more  persons  capable  of  executing  long  journeys 
than  of  writing  an  account  of  them.  Many  of  these  adventur- 
ers remained  and  died  in  the  countries  which  they  visited. 
Others  returned  to  their  country  as  obscure  as  when  they  left 
it,  but  with  an  imagination  filled  with  what  they  had  seen, 
relating  it  to  their  family,  exaggerating,  no  doubt,  but  leav- 
ing around  them,  amid  absurd  fables,  useful  remembrances 
and  traditions  capable  of  bearing  fruit.  Thus  in  Germany, 
Italy  and  France,  in  the  monasteries,  in  the  castles  of  the  lords, 
and  even  down  to  the  lowest  ranks  of  society,  were  deposited 
precious  seeds  destined  before  long  to  germinate.  All  these 
unknown  travellers  carried  the  arts  of  their  native  land  into  the 
most  distant  countries,  brought  back  other  knowledge  no  less 
precious,  and  thus  made,  without  being  aware  of  it,  more  ad- 
vantageous exchanges  than  all  those  of  commerce.  By  these 
means  not  only  the  trade  in  silk,  porcelain  and  Indian  com- 
modities was  extended  and  facilitated — new  routes  opened  to 
commercial  industry  and  activity — but,  what  was  of  much  more 
importance,  foreign  manners,  unknown  nations,  extraordinary 
productions,  ofTered  themselves  in  crowds  to  the  minds  of  the 
Europeans,  confined,  since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  with- 
in too  narrow  a  circle.    They  began  to  know  the  value  of  the 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE 


131 


most  beautiful,  the  most  populous,  and  the  most  anciently 
civilized  of  the  four  cjuarters  of  the  globe.  They  began  to 
study  the  arts,  creeds,  and  idioms  of  its  inhabitants,  and  there 
was  even  talk  of  establishing  a  professorship  of  the  Tartar  lan- 
guage in  the  University  of  Paris.  Romantic  narrative,  v^hen 
duly  discussed  and  investigated,  spread  on  all  sides  more  just 
and  varied  notions.  The  world  seemed  to  open  on  the  side 
of  the  east ;  geography  took  a  great  stride,  and  the  desire  for 
discovery  became  the  new  form  which  clothed  the  adventurous 
spirit  of  the  Europeans.  The  idea  of  another  hemisphere  ceased 
to  present  itself  as  a  paradox  void  of  all  probability,  when  our 
own  became  better  known;  and  it  was  in  searching  for  the 
Zipangi  of  Marco  Polo  that  Christopher  Columbus  discovered 
the  New  World." 

You  see,  by  the  facts  which  led  to  the  impulsion  of  the 
crusades,  what,  at  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries,  was 
the  new  and  vast  world  which  was  thrown  open  to  the  Euro- 
pean mind.  There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  this  was  one  of 
the  most  powerful  causes  of  development,  and  of  the  freedom 
of  mind  which  shone  forth  at  the  end  of  this  great  event. 

There  is  another  cause  which  merits  observation.  Down 
to  the  time  of  the  crusades,  the  court  of  Rome,  the  centre 
of  the  church,  had  never  been  in  communication  with  the  laity, 
except  through  the  medium  of  ecclesiastics,  whether  legates 
sent  from  the  court  of  Rome,  or  the  bishops  and  the  entire 
clergy.  There  had  always  been  some  laymen  in  direct  relation 
with  Rome ;  but,  taken  all  together,  it  was  through  the  eccle- 
siastics that  she  communicated  with  the  people.  During  the 
crusades,  on  the  contrary,  Rome  became  a  place  of  passage  to 
the  greater  part  of  the  crusaders,  both  in  going  and  in  return- 
ing. Numbers  of  the  laity  viewed  her  policy  and  manners, 
and  could  see  how  much  of  personal  interest  influenced  relig- 
ious controversy.  Doubtless  this  new  knowledge  inspired 
many  minds  with  a  hardihood  till  then  unknown. 

When  we  consider  the  state  of  minds  in  general,  at  the  end 
of  the  crusades,  and  particularly  in  ecclesiastical  matters,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  be  struck  by  one  singular  fact:  religious 
ideas  experienced  no  change ;  they  had  not"  been  replaced  by 
contrary  or  even  different  opinions.  Yet  minds  were  infinitely 
more  free ;  religious  creeds  were  no  longer  the  only  sphere  in 
which  it  was  brought  into  play ;  without  abandoning  them,  it 
began  to  separate  itself  from  them,  and  carry  itself  elsewhere. 
Thus,  at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  moral  cause 
which  had  determined  the  crusades,  which  at  least  was  its  most 
energetic  principle,  had  vanished ;  the  moral  state  of  Europe 
was  profoundly  modified. 

The  social  state  had  undergone  an  analogous  change.    Much 


132 


GUIZOT 


investigation  has  been  expended  upon  what  was  the  influence 
of  the  crusades  in  this  respect;  it  has  been  shown  how  they 
reduced  a  large  number  of  fief  holders  to  the  necessity  of  sell- 
ing them  to  their  sovereigns,  or  of  selling  charters  to  the  bor- 
oughs in  order  to  procure  the  means  of  following  the  crusade. 
It  has  been  shown  that  by  their  mere  absence  many  of  the  lords 
must  have  lost  the  greater  portion  of  their  power.  Without 
entering  into  the  details  of  this  inquiry,  we  may,  I  think,  resolve 
into  a  few  general  facts  the  influence  of  the  crusades  upon  the 
social  state. 

They  greatly  diminished  the  number  of  petty  fiefs  and  small 
domains,  of  inferior  fief-holders  ;  and  they  concentred  property 
and  power  in  a  smaller  number  of  hands.  It  is  with  the  com- 
mencement of  the  crusades  that  we  see  the  formation  and  aug- 
mentation of  large  fiefs  and  great  feudal  existences. 

I  have  often  regretted  that  there  is  no  map  of  France  divided 
into  fiefs,  as  there  is  of  its  division  into  departments,  arrondisse- 
ments,  cantons  and  parishes,  in  which  all  the  fiefs  should  be 
marked,  with  their  extent  and  successive  relations  and  changes. 
If  we  were  to  compare,  with  the  aid  of  such  a  map,  the  state  of 
France  before  and  after  the  crusades,  we  should  see  how  many 
fiefs  had  vanished,  and  to  what  a  degree  the  great  and  middle 
fiefs  had  increased.  This  was  one  of  the  most  important  facts 
to  which  the  crusades  led. 

Even  where  the  petty  proprietors  preserved  their  fiefs,  they 
no  longer  lived  as  isolated  as  formerly.  The  great  fief-holders 
became  so  many  centres  around  which  the  smaller  ones  con- 
verged, and  near  to  which  they  passed  their  lives.  It  had  be- 
come necessary  during  the  crusades  for  them  to  put  them- 
selves in  the  train  of  the  richest  and  most  powerful,  to  receive 
succor  from  him ;  they  had  lived  with  him,  partaken  of  his 
fortune,  gone  through  the  same  adventures.  When  the  cru- 
saders returned  home,  this  sociability,  this  habit  of  living  near 
to  the  superior  lord,  remained  fixed  in  their  manners.  Thus 
as  we  see  the  augmentation  of  the  great  fiefs  after  the  crusades, 
so  we  see  the  holders  of  those  fiefs  holding  a  much  more  con- 
siderable court  in  the  interior  of  their  castles,  having  near  them 
a  larger  number  of  gentlemen  who  still  preserved  their  small 
domains,  but  did  not  shut  themselves  up  within  them. 

The  extension  of  the  great  fiefs  and  the  creation  of  a  certain 
number  of  centres  of  society,  in  place  of  the  dispersion  which 
formerly  existed,  are  the  two  principal  effects  brought  about 
by  the  crusades  in  the  heart  of  feudalism. 

As  to  the  burghers,  a  result  of  the  same  nature  is  easily  per- 
ceptible. The  crusades  created  the  great  boroughs.  Petty 
commerce  and  industry  did  not  suflice  to  create  boroughs  such 
as  the  great  towns  of  Italy  and  Flanders  were.    It  was  com- 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  133 

merce  on  a  great  scale,  maritime  commerce,  and  especially 
that  of  the  east,  which  gave  rise  to  them ;  it  was  the  crusades 
which  gave  to  maritime  commerce  the  most  powerful  impul- 
sion it  had  ever  received. 

Upon  the  whole,  when  we  regard  the  state  of  society  at  the 
end  of  the  crusades,  we  find  that  this  movement  of  dissolution, 
of  the  dispersion  of  existences  and  influences,  this  movement 
of  universal  localization,  if  such  a  phrase  be  permitted,  which 
had  preceded  this  epoch,  had  ceased,  by  a  movement  with  an 
exactly  contrary  tendency,  by  a  movement  of  centralization. 
All  now  tended  to  approximation.  The  lesser  existences  were 
either  absorbed  in  the  greater,  or  were  grouped  around  them. 
It  was  in  this  direction  that  society  advanced,  that  all  its  prog- 
ress was  made. 

You  now  see  why,  toward  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  and 
fourteenth  centuries,  neither  people  nor  sovereigns  any  longer 
desired  the  crusades;  they  had  no  longer  either  the  need  or 
desire  for  them ;  they  had  been  cast  into  them  by  the  impul- 
sion of  the  religious  spirit,  and  by  the  exclusive  domination 
of  religious  ideas  upon  the  whole  existence;  this  domination 
had  lost  its  energy.  They  had  sought,  too,  in  the  crusades  a 
new  life,  more  extensive  and  more  varied;  they  now  began  to 
find  it  in  Europe  itself,  in  the  progress  of  social  relations.  It 
was  at  this  epoch  the  career  of  political  aggrandizement  opened 
itself  to  kings.  Wherefore  seek  kingdoms  in  Asia,  when  they 
had  them  to  conquer  at  their  own  doors  ?  Philip  Augustus  went 
to  the  crusades  against  his  will :  what  could  be  more  natural  ? 
He  had  to  make  himself  king  of  France.  It  was  the  same  with 
the  people.  The  career  of  riches  opened  before  their  eyes; 
they  renounced  adventures  for  work.  For  the  sovereigns,  the 
place  of  adventures  was  supplied  by  policy ;  for  the  people,  by 
work  on  a  great  scale.  One  single  class  of  society  still  had  a 
taste  for  adventure;  this  was  that  portion  of  feudal  nobility 
who,  not  being  in  a  condition  to  think  of  political  aggrandize- 
ment, and  not  liking  work,  preserved  their  ancient  condition 
and  manners.  They  therefore  continued  to  rush  to  the  cru- 
sades, and  attempted  their  revival. 

Such,  in  my  opinion,  are  the  great  and  true  effects  of  the 
crusades :  on  one  side,  the  extension  of  ideas,  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  mind  ;  on  the  other,  the  aggrandizement  of  existences 
and  a  large  sphere  opened  to  activity  of  all  kind  ;  they  produced 
at  once  a  greater  degree  of  individual  liberty,  and  of  political 
unity.  They  aided  the  independence  of  man  and  the  centrali- 
zation of  society.  Much  has  been  asked  as  to  the  means  of 
civilization — which  they  directly  imported  from  the  east;  it 
has  been  said  that  the  chief  portion  of  the  great  discoveries 
which,  in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  called  forth  the 


134  GUIZOT 

development  of  European  civilization — the  compass,  printing, 
gunpowder — were  known  in  the  east,  and  that  the  crusaders 
may  have  brought  them  thence.  This,  to  a  certain  point,  is 
true.  But  some  of  these  assertions  are  disputable.  That  which 
is  not  disputable  is  this  influence,  this  general  effect  of  the  cru- 
sades upon  the  mind  on  one  hand,  and  upon  society  on  the 
other  hand ;  they  drew  European  society  from  a  very  straight- 
ened tract,  and  led  it  into  new  and  infinitely  more  extensive 
paths;  they  commenced  that  transformation  of  the  various 
elements  of  European  society  into  governments  and  peoples 
which  is  the  character  of  modern  civilization.  About  the  same 
time,  royalty,  one  of  those  institutions  which  have  most  power- 
fully contributed  to  this  great  result,  developed  itself.  Its  his- 
tory, from  the  birth  of  modern  states  down  to  the  thirteenth 
century,  will  form  the  subject  of  my  next  lecture. 


NINTH    LECTURE. 

IN  our  last  lecture  I  attempted  to  determine  the  essential 
and  distinctive  character  of  modern  European  society  as 
compared  with  primitive  European  society  ;  I  believe  that 
we  discovered  in  this  fact  that  all  the  elements  of  the  social  state, 
at  first  numerous  and  various,  reduce  themselves  to  two  :  on 
one  hand  the  government,  and  on  the  other  the  people.  Instead 
of  encountering  the  feudal  nobility,  the  clergy,  the  kings,  the 
burghers,  and  serfs  as  the  dominant  powers  and  chief  actors 
in  history,  we  find  in  modern  Europe  but  two  great  figures  which 
alone  occupy  the  historic  scene,  the  government,  and  the  coun- 
try. 

If  such  is  the  fact  in  which  European  civilization  terminates, 
such  also  is  the  end  to  which  we  should  tend,  and  to  which  our 
researches  should  conduct  us.  It  is  necessary  that  we  should 
see  this  grand  result  take  birth,  and  progressively  develop  and 
strengthen  itself.  We  are  entered  upon  the  epoch  in  which 
we  may  arrive  at  its  origin :  it  was,  as  you  have  seen,  between 
the  twelfth  and  the  sixteenth  century  that  the  slow  and  con- 
cealed work  operated  in  Europe  which  has  led  our  society  to  this 
new  form  and  definite  state.  We  have  likewise  studied  the  first 
great  event,  which,  in  my  opinion,  evidently  and  powerfully  im- 
pelled Europe,  in  this  direction,  that  is,  the  crusades. 

About  the  same  epoch,  almost  at  the  moment  that  the  crusades 
broke  out,  that  institution  commenced  its  aggrandizement, 
which  has,  perhaps,  contributed  more  than  anything  to  the  for- 
mation of  modern  society,  and  to  that  fusion  of  all  the  social  ele- 
ments into  two  powers,  the  government  and  the  people — roy- 
alty. 

It  is  evident  that  royalty  has  played  a  prodigious  part  in  the 
history  of  European  civilization  ;  a  single  glance  at  facts  suffices 
to  convince  one  of  it ;  we  see  the  development  of  royalty  inarch- 
ing with  the  same  step,  so  to  speak,  at  least  for  a  long  period,  as 
that  of  society  itself ;  the  progress  is  mutual. 

And  not  only  is  the  progress  mutual,  but  whenever  society  ad- 
vances toward  its  modern  and  definitive  character,  royalty  seems 
to  extend  and  prosper ;  so  that  when  the  work  is  consummated, 
when  there  is  no  longer  any,  or  scarcely  any,  other  important  or 

135 


136  GUIZOT 

(decisive  influence  in  the  great  states  of  Europe,  than  that  of  the 
government  and  the  public,  royalty  is  the  government 

And  it  has  thus  happened,  not  only  in  France,  where  the  fact 
is  evident,  but  also  in  the  greater  portion  of  European  countries ; 
a  little  earlier  or  a  little  later,  under  somewhat  different  forms, 
the  same  result  is  offered  us  in  the  history  of  society  in  England, 
Spain,  and  Germany.  In  England,  for  example,  it  was  under 
the  Tudors  that  the  ancient,  peculiar,  and  local  elements  of  Eng- 
lish society  were  perverted  and  dissolved,  and  gave  place  to  the 
system  of  public  powers ;  this  also  was  the  time  of  the  greatest 
influence  of  royalty.  It  was  the  same  in  Germany,  Spain  and 
all  the  great  European  states. 

If  we  leave  Europe,  and  if  we  turn  our  view  upon  the  rest  of 
the  world,  we  shall  be  struck  by  an  analogous  fact  ;  we  shall 
everywhere  find  royalty  occupying  an  important  position,  ap- 
pearing as,  perhaps,  the  most  general  and  permanent  of  institu- 
tions, the  most  difficult  to  prevent,  where  it  did  not  formerly 
exist,  and  the  most  difficult  to  root  out  where  it  had  existed. 
From  time  immemorial  it  has  possessed  Asia.  At  the  discovery 
of  America,  all  the  great  states  there  were  found  with  different 
combinations,  subject  to  the  monarchical  system.  When  we 
penetrate  into  the  interior  of  Africa,  wherever  we  meet  with  na- 
tions in  any  way  extensive,  this  is  the  prevailing  system.  And 
not  only  has  royalty  penetrated  everywhere,  but  it  has  accom- 
modated itself  to  the  most  diverse  situations,  to  civilization,  and 
to  barbarism,  to  manners  the  most  pacific,  as  in  China,  for  ex- 
ample, and  to  those  in  which  war,  in  which  the  military  spirit 
dominates.  It  has  alike  established  itself  in  the  heart  of  the 
system  of  castes  ;  in  the  most  rigorously  classified  societies,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  system  of  equality,  in  societies  which  are  utter 
strangers  to  all  legal  and  permanent  classification.  Here 
despotic  and  oppressive,  there  favorable  to  civilization  and  even 
to  liberty,  it  seems  like  a  head  which  may  be  placed  upon  a  mul- 
titude of  different  bodies,  a  fruit  that  will  spring  from  the  most 
dissimilar  germs. 

In  this  fact  we  may  discover  many  curious  and  important  con- 
sequences. I  will  take  only  two.  The  first  is,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible such  a  result  should  be  the  fruit  of  mere  chance,  of  force  or 
usurpation  alone  ;  it  is  impossible  but  that  there  should  be  a 
profound  and  powerful  analogy  between  the  nature  of  royalty, 
considered  as  an  institution,  and  the  nature,  whether  of  indi- 
vidual man,  or  of  human  society.  Doubtless  force  is  intermixed 
with  the  origin  of  the  institution  ;  doubtless  force  has  taken  an 
important  part  in  its  progress  ;  but  when  we  meet  with  such  a 
result  as  this,  when  we  see  a  great  event  developing  and  repro- 
ducing itself  during  the  course  of  many  centuries,  and  in  the 
midst  of  such  different  situations,  we  cannot  attribute  it  to  force. 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  137 

Force  plays  a  great  part  and  an  incessant  one  In  human  affairs  ; 
but  it  is  not  their  principle,  their  primum  mobile  ;  above  force 
and  the  part  which  it  plays  there  hovers  a  moral  cause  which  de- 
cides the  totality  of  things.  It  is  with  force  in  the  history  of 
societies  as  with  the  body  in  the  history  of  man.  The  body 
surely  holds  a  high  place  in  the  life  of  man,  but  still  it  is  not  the 
principle  of  life.  Life  circulates  within  it,  but  it  does  not 
emanate  from  it.  So  it  is  with  human  societies ;  whatever  part 
force  takes  therein,  it  is  not  force  which  governs  them,  and  which 
presides  supremely  over  their  destinies  ;  it  is  ideas  and  moral 
influences,  which  conceal  themselves  under  the  accidents  of  force 
and  regulate  the  course  of  the  society.  It  is  a  cause  of  this  kind, 
and  not  force,  which  gave  success  to  royalty. 

A  second  fact,  and  one  which  is  no  less  worthy  of  remark,  is 
the  flexibility  of  the  institution,  its  faculty  of  modifying  and 
adapting  itself  to  a  multitude  of  different  circumstances.  Mark 
the  contrast  :  its  form  is  unique,  permanent,  and  simple  ;  it 
does  not  offer  that  prodigious  variety  of  combinations  which  we 
see  in  other  institutions,  and  yet  it  applies  itself  to  societies  which 
the  least  resemble  it.  It  must  evidently  allow  of  great  diversity, 
and  must  attach  itself,  whether  in  man  himself  or  in  society,  to 
many  different  elements  and  principles. 

It  is  from  not  having  considered  the  institution  of  royalty  in 
its  whole  extent ;  from  not  having,  on  the  one  hand,  penetrated  to 
its  peculiar  and  fixed  principle,  which,  whatever  may  be  the  cir- 
cumstances to  which  it  applies  itself,  is  its  very  essence  and  being 
— and,  on  the  other,  from  not  having  estimated  all  the  varieties 
to  which  it  lends  itself,  and  all  the  principles  with  which  it  may 
enter  into  alliance  ;  it  is,  I  say,  from  not  having  considered  roy- 
alty under  this  vast  and  two-fold  point  of  view,  that  the  part 
taken  by  it  in  the  history  of  the  world  has  not  been  always  com- 
prehended, that  its  nature  and  effects  have  often  been  mis- 
construed. 

This  is  the  work  which  I  wish  to  go  through  with  you,  and  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  take  an  exact  and  complete  estimate  of  the 
effects  of  this  institution  in  modern  Europe,  whether  they  have 
flowed  from  its  own  peculiar  principles  or  the  modifications 
which  it  has  undergone. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  force  of  royalty,  that  moral 
power  which  is  its  true  principle,  does  not  reside  in  the  sole  and 
personal  will  of  the  man  momentarily  king  ;  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  people,  in  accepting  it  as  an  institution,  philoso- 
phers in  maintaining  it  as  a  system,  have  not  intended  or  con- 
sented to  accept  the  empire  of  the  will  of  a  man  essentially  nar- 
row, arbitrary,  capricious,  and  ignorant. 

Royalty  is  quite  a  distinct  thing  from  the  will  of  a  man,  al- 
though it  presents  itself  in  that  form  ;  it  is  the  personification  of 


138  GUIZOT 

the  sovereignty  of  right,  of  that  will,  essentially  reasonable,  eii- 
lightened,  just  and  impartial,  foreign  and  superior  to  all  indi- 
vidual wills,  and  which  in  virtue  of  this  title  has  a  right  to  govern 
them.  Such  is  the  meaning  of  royalty  in  the  minds  of  nations, 
such  the  motive  for  their  adhesion. 

Is  it  true  that  there  is  a  sovereignty  of  right,  a  will  which  pos- 
sesses the  right  of  governing  men?  It  is  quite  certain  that  they 
believe  so;  because  they  seek,  and  constantly  have  sought, 
and  indeed  cannot  but  seek,  to  place  themselves  under  its  empire. 
Conceive  to  yourselves  the  smallest  assembly  of  men,  I  will  not 
say  a  people  :  conceive  that  assembly  under  the  submission  to  a 
sovereign  who  is  only  so  de  facto,  under  a  force  which  has  no 
right  except  that  of  force,  which  governs  neither  according  to 
reason,  justice,  nor  truth  ;  human  nature  revolts  at  such  a  sup- 
position— it  must  have  right  to  believe  in.  It  is  the  supremacy 
of  right  which  it  seeks,  that  is  the  only  power  to  which  man  con- 
sents to  submit.  What  is  history  but  the  demonstration  of  this 
universal  fact?  What  are  the  greater  portion  of  the  struggles 
which  take  place  in  the  life  of  nations  but  an  ardent  effort  toward 
the  sovereignty  of  right,  so  that  they  may  place  themselves  un- 
der its  empire?  And  not  only  nations,  but  philosophers  believe 
in  its  existence,  and  incessantly  seek  it.  What  are  all  the  sys- 
tems of  political  philosophy,  but  the  search  for  the  sovereign  of 
right?  What  is  it  that  they  treat  of,  but  the  question  of  know- 
ing who  has  a  right  to  govern  society  ?  Take  the  theocratical, 
monarchical,  aristocratical,  or  democratical  systems,  all  of  them 
boast  of  having  discovered  wherein  the  sovereignty  of  right  re- 
sides; all  promise  to  society  that  they  will  place  it  under  the  rule 
of  its  legitimate  master.  I  repeat,  this  is  the  end  alike  of  all  the 
works  of  philosophers,  of  all  efforts  of  nations. 

How  should  they  but  believe  in  the  sovereignty  of  right  ?  How 
should  they  but  be  constantly  in  search  of  it?  Take  the  most 
simple  suppositions  ;  let  there  be  something  to  accomplish, 
some  influence  to  exercise,  whether  upon  society  in  its  whole,  or 
upon  a  number  of  its  members,  or  upon  a  single  individual  ; 
there  is  evidently  always  a  rule  for  this  action,  a  legitimate  will 
to  follow  and  apply.  Whether  you  penetrate  into  the  smallest 
details  of  social  life,  or  whether  you  elevate  yourselves  to  the 
greatest  events,  you  will  everywhere  encounter  a  truth  to  be 
proved,  or  a  just  and  reasonable  idea  to  be  passed  into  reality. 
This  is  the  sovereign  of  right,  toward  which  philosophers  and 
nations  have  never  ceased  and  never  can  cease  to  aspire. 

Up  to  what  point  can  the  sovereignty  of  right  be  represented 
in  a  general  and  permanent  manner  by  a  terrestial  force  or  by  a 
human  will?  How  far  is  such  a  supposition  necessarily  false 
and  dangerous?  What  should  be  thought  in  particular  of  the 
personification  of  the  sovereignty  of  right  under  the  image  of 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  139 

royalty?  Upon  what  conditions,  within  what  limits  is  this  per- 
sonification admissible?  Great  questions,  which  I  have  not  to 
treat  of  here,  but  which  I  could  not  resist  pointing  out,  and  upon 
which  I  shall  say  a  word  in  passing. 

I  affirm,  and  the  merest  common  sense  will  acknowledge,  that 
the  sovereignty  of  right  completely  and  permanently  can  apper- 
tain to  no  one  ;  that  all  attribution  of  the  sovereignty  of  right 
to  any  human  power  whatsoever  is  radically  false  and  dangerous. 
Hence  arises  the  necessity  for  the  limitation  of  all  powers,  what- 
ever their  names  or  forms  may  be  ;  hence  the  radical  illegiti- 
macy of  all  absolute  power,  whether  its  origin  be  from  conquest, 
inheritance,  or  election.  People  may  differ  as  to  the  best  means 
of  seeking  the  sovereign  of  right ;  they  may  vary  as  to  place  and 
times  ;  but  in  no  place,  no  time,  can  any  legitimate  power  be 
the  independent  possessor  of  this  sovereignty. 

This  principle  being  laid  down,  it  is  no  less  certain  that  roy- 
alty, in  whatever  system  it  is  considered,  presents  itself  as  the 
personification  of  the  sovereign  of  right.  Listen  to  the  theocrat- 
ical  system  :  it  will  tell  you  that  kings  are  the  image  of  God 
upon  earth  ;  this  is  only  saying  that  they  are  the  personification 
of  sovereign  justice,  truth,  and  goodness.  Address  yourself  to 
the  jurisconsults  ;  they  will  tell  you  that  the  king  is  the  living 
law ;  that  is  to  say,  the  king  is  the  personification  of  the  sover- 
eign of  right,  of  the  just  law,  which  has  the  right  of  governing 
society.  Ask  royalty  itself,  in  the  system  of  pure  monarchy  ;  it 
will  tell  you  that  it  is  the  personification  of  the  state,  of  the  gen- 
eral interest.  In  whatever  alliance  and  in  whatever  situation 
you  consider  it,  you  will  always  find  it  summing  itself  up  in  the 
pretension  of  representing  and  reproducing  the  sovereign  of 
right,  alone  capable  of  legitimately  governing  society. 

There  is  no  occasion  for  astonishment  in  all  this.  What  are 
the  characteristics  of  the  sovereign  of  right,  the  characteristics 
derivable  from  his  very  nature?  In  the  first  place  he  is  unique  ; 
since  there  is  but  one  truth,  one  justice,  there  can  be  but  one 
sovereign  of  right.  He  is  permanent,  always  the  same  ;  truth 
never  changes.  He  is  placed  in  a  superior  situation,  a  stranger 
to  all  the  vicissitudes  and  changes  of  this  world  ;  his  part  in  the 
world  is,  as  it  were,  that  of  a  spectator  and  judge.  Well,  is  it 
royalty  which  externally  reproduces,  under  the  most  simple 
form,  that  which  appears  its  most  faithful  image,  these  rational 
and  natural  characteristics  of  the  sovereign  of  right.  Open  the 
work  in  which  M.  Benjamin  Constant  has  so  ingeniously  repre- 
sented royalty  as  a  neutral  and  moderating  power,  raised  above 
the  accidents  and  struggles  of  social  life,  and  only  interfering  at 
great  crises.  Is  not  this,  so  to  speak,  the  attitude  of  the  sover- 
eign of  right  in  the  government  of  human  things  ?  There  must 
be  something  in  this  idea  well  calculated  to  impress  the  mind, 


I40  GUIZOT 

for  it  has  passed  with  singular  rapidity  from  books  to  facts.  One 
sovereign  made  it  in  the  constitution  of  Brazil  the  very  founda- 
tion of  his  throne  ;  there  royalty  is  represented  as  a  moderating 
power,  raised  above  all  active  powers,  as  a  spectator  and  judge. 

Under  whatever  point  of  view  you  regard  this  institution  as 
compared  with  the  sovereign  of  right,  you  will  find  that  there  is 
a  great  external  resemblance,  and  that  it  is  natural  for  it  to  have 
struck  the  minds  of  men.  Accordingly,  whenever  their  reflec- 
tion or  imagination  turned  with  preference  toward  the  contem- 
plation or  study  of  the  nature  of  the  sovereign  of  right,  and  his 
essential  characteristics,  they  have  inclined  toward  royalty.  As 
in  the  time  of  the  preponderance  of  religious  ideas,  the  habitual 
contemplation  of  the  nature  of  God  led  mankind  toward  the 
monarchical  system,  so  when  the  jurisconsults  dominated  in  so- 
ciety, the  habit  of  studying,  under  the  name  of  the  law,  the  nature 
of  the  sovereign  of  right,  was  favorable  to  the  dogma  of  his  per- 
sonification in  royalty.  The  attentive  application  of  the  human 
mind  to  the  contemplation  of  the  nature  of  the  sovereignty  of 
right  when  no  other  causes  have  interfered  to  destroy  the  effect, 
has  always  given  force  and  credit  to  royalty,  which  presents  its 
image. 

Moreover,  there  are  times  peculiarly  favorable  to  this  personi- 
fication. These  are  the  times  when  individual  powers  display 
themselves  in  the  world  with  all  their  risks  and  caprices  ;  times 
when  egotism  dominates  in  individuals,  whether  from  ignorance 
and  brutality,  or  from  corruption.  Then  society,  abandoned  to 
the  contests  of  personal  wills,  and  unable  to  raise  itself  by  their 
free  concurrence  to  a  common  and  universal  will,  passionately 
long  for  a  sovereign  to  whom  all  individuals  may  be  forced  to 
submit  ;  and  the  moment  any  institution,  bearing  any  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  sovereignty  of  right,  presented  itself  and 
promised  its  empire  to  society,  society  rallied  round  it  with 
eager  earnestness,  like  outlaws,  taking  refuge  in  the  asylum  of  a 
church.  This  is  what  has  been  seen  in  the  disorderly  youth  of 
nations,  such  as  we  have  surveyed.  Royalty  is  admirably 
adapted  to  epochs,  of  vigorous  and  fruitful  anarchy,  so  to  speak, 
when  society  desires  to  form  and  regulate  itself,  without  know- 
ing how  to  do  so  by  the  free  concord  of  individual  wills.  There 
are  other  times  when,  from  directly  opposite  causes,  it  has  the 
same  recommendation.  Why  did  the  Roman  Empire,  so  nearly 
in  a  state  of  dissolution  at  the  end  of  the  republic,  subsist  for 
nearly  fifteen  centuries  afterward,  under  the  name  of  that  empire 
which,  after  all,  was  but  a  continual  decay,  a  lengthened  agony? 
Royalty  alone  could  produce  such  an  effect  ;  that  alone  could 
hold  together  a  society  which  selfishness  incessantly  tended  to 
destroy.  The  imperial  power  struggled  for  fifteen  centuries 
against  the  ruin  of  the  Roman  world. 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  141 

Thus  there  are  times  when  royalty  alone  can  retard  the  disso- 
lution of  society,  and  times  when  it  alone  accelerates  its  forma- 
tion. And  in  both  these  cases  it  is  because  it  represents  more 
clearly  and  powerfully  than  any  other  form  the  sovereignty  of 
right,  that  it  exercises  this  power  upon  events. 

From  whatever  point  of  view  you  may  consider  this  institu- 
tion, and  at  whatever  epoch,  you  will  acknowledge  then  that  its 
essential  characteristic,  its  moral  principle,  its  true  and  inmost 
meaning  is  the  image,  the  personification,  the  presumed  inter- 
preter of  this  unique,  superior  and  essentially  legitimate  will, 
which  alone  has  the  right  of  governing  society. 

Let  us  now  regard  royalty  from  the  second  point  of  view,  that 
is  to  say,  in  its  flexibility,  in  the  variety  of  parts  which  it  has 
played,  and  the  effects  which  it  has  produced;  it  is  necessary 
that  we  should  give  the  reason  of  these  features  and  determine 
their  causes. 

Here  we  have  an  advantage;  we  can  immediately  enter  upon 
history,  and  upon  our  own  history.  By  a  concourse  of  singular 
circumstances  it  has  happened  that  in  modern  Europe  royalty 
has  assumed  every  character  under  which  it  has  shown  itself  in 
the  history  of  the  world.  If  I  may  be  allowed  to  use  an  arithmet- 
ical expression,  European  royalty  is  the  sum  total  of  all  possible 
species  of  royalty.  I  will  run  over  its  history  from  the  fifth  to 
the  twelfth  century;  you  will  see  how  various  are  the  aspects 
under  which  it  presents  itself,  and  to  what  an  extent  we  shall 
everywhere  find  this  character  of  variety,  complication  and  con- 
flict which  belongs  to  all  European  civilization. 

In  the  fifth  century,  at  the  time  of  the  great  German  invasion, 
two  royalties  are  present;  the  barbarian  and  the  imperial  royalty, 
that  of  Clovis  and  that  of  Constantine,  both  differing  essentially 
in  principles  and  effects.  Barbaric  royalty  is  essentially  elective; 
the  German  kings  were  elected,  although  their  election  did  not 
take  place  with  the  same  forms  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
attach  to  the  idea;  they  were  military  chiefs,  who  were  bound  to 
make  their  power  freely  acceptable  to  a  large  number  of  com- 
panions, who  obeyed  them  as  being  the  most  brave  and  the  most 
able  among  them.  Election  is  the  true  source  of  barbaric 
royalty,  its  primitive  and  essential  characteristic. 

Not  that  this  characteristic  in  the  fifth  century  was  not  already 
a  little  modified,  or  that  different  elements  had  not  been  intro- 
duced into  royalty.  The  various  tribes  had  had  their  chiefs  for 
a  certain  time;  some  families  had  raised  themselves  to  more 
trust,  consideration  and  riches  than  others.  Hence  a  com- 
mencement of  inheritance;  the  chief  was  now  mostly  elected  out 
of  these  families.  This  was  the  first  differing  principle  which 
became  associated  with  the  dominant  principle  of  election. 

Another  idea,  another  element,  had  also  already  penetrated 


142 


GUIZOT 


into  barbaric  royalty:  this  was  the  religious  element.  We  find 
among  some  of  the  barbarous  nations,  among  the  Goths,  for 
example,  that  the  families  of  their  kings  descended  from  the 
families  of  their  gods,  or  from  those  heroes  of  whom  they  had 
made  gods,  such  as  Odin.  This  is  the  situation  of  the  kings  of 
Homer,  who  sprang  from  gods  or  demi-gods,  and  by  reason  of 
this  title  were  the  objects  of  a  kind  of  religious  veneration, 
despite  their  limited  power. 

Such,  in  the  fifth  century,  was  barbaric  royalty,  already  vary- 
ing and  fluctuating,  although  its  primitive  principle  still 
dominated. 

I  take  imperial,  Roman  royalty;  this  is  a  totally  different 
thing;  it  is  the  personification  of  the  state,  the  heir  of  the  sov- 
ereignty and  majesty  of  the  Roman  people.  Consider  the 
royalty  of  Augustus  and  Tiberius;  the  emperor  is  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  senate,  the  comitia,  and  the  whole  republic ;  he 
succeeded  them,  and  they  are  summed  up  in  his  person.  Who 
would  not  recognize  this  in  the  modesty  of  language  of  the  first 
emperors;  of  those,  at  least,  who  were  men  of  sense,  and  under- 
stood their  situation?  They  felt  themselves  in  the  presence  of 
the  late  sovereign  people  who  had  abdicated  in  their  favor;  they 
addressed  them  as  their  representatives  and  ministers.  But,  in 
fact,  they  exercised  the  whole  power  of  the  people,  and  that  with 
the  most  formidable  intensity.  It  is  easy  for  us  to  understand 
such  a  transformation ;  we  have  ourselves  witnessed  it ;  we  have 
seen  the  sovereignty  pass  from  the  people  to  a  man;  that  is 
the  history  of  Napoleon.  He  also  was  the  personification  of 
the  sovereign  people;  he  unceasingly  repeated  to  it,  "  Who  like 
me  has  been  elected  by  eighteen  millions  of  men?  Who  like  me 
is  the  representative  of  the  people  Republique  Frangaise?" 
And  when  upon  one  side  of  his  coinage  we  read,  The  French 
Republic,  and  upon  the  other.  Napoleon,  Empereur,  what  does 
this  mean,  if  not  the  fact  which  I  have  described,  the  people 
become  king  ? 

Such  was  the  fundamental  character  of  imperial  royalty,  which 
it  preserved  for  the  three  first  centuries  of  the  empire;  it  was 
not  till  Diocletian  that  it  took  its  definite  and  complete  form. 
It  was  then,  however,  upon  the  point  of  undergoing  a  great 
change;  a  new  royalty  had  almost  appeared.  Christianity 
labored  for  three  centuries  to  introduce  the  religious  element  into 
society.  It  was  under  Constantine  that  it  met  with  success,  not 
in  making  it  the  prevalent  fact,  but  in  making  it  play  an  impor- 
tant part.  Here  royalty  presents  itself  under  a  different  aspect ; 
its  origin  is  not  earthly;  the  prince  is  not  the  representative  of 
the  public  sovereignty;  he  is  the  image  of  God,  his  representa- 
tive and  delegate.  Power  came  down  to  him  from  above,  while 
in  imperial  royalty  it  came  from  below.    These  are  two  utterly 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  143 

different  situations,  and  have  entirely  different  results.  The 
rights  of  liberty,  political  guarantees,  are  difficult  to  combine 
with  the  principle  of  religious  royalty;  but  the  principle  itself 
is  elevated,  moral  and  salutary.  Let  us  see  the  idea  which  was 
formed  of  the  prince  in  the  seventh  century  in  the  system  of 
religious  royalty.  I  take  it  from  the  canons  of  the  councils  of 
Toledo. 

"The  king  is  called  king  (r^^r)  because  he  governs  justly 
(recte).  If  he  act  with  justice  (recte)  he  legitimately  pos- 
sesses the  name  of  king;  if  he  act  with  injustice  he  miserably 
loses  it.  Our  fathers,  therefore,  said  with  good  reason:  Rex 
ejus,  eris  si  recta  facis,  si  autem  non  facis,  non  eris.  The  two 
principal  royal  virtues  are  justice  and  truth  (science  of  the 
reason). 

"  The  royal  power  is  bound,  like  the  people,  to  respect  the 
laws  .  .  .  Obedience  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  gives  to  us  and 
to  our  subjects  wise  laws  which  our  greatness  and  that  of  our 
successors  is  bound  to  obey,  as  well  as  the  whole  population  of 
our  kingdom.     .     .     . 

"  God,  the  creator  of  all  things,  in  disposing  the  structure  of 
the  human  body,  has  raised  the  head  on  high  and  has  willed  that 
the  nerves  of  all  the  members  should  proceed  therefrom.  And 
he  has  placed  in  the  head  the  torch  of  the  eyes,  to  the  end  that 
from  thence  may  be  viewed  all  things  that  might  be  prejudicial. 
He  has  established  the  power  of  intellect,  charging  it  to  govern 
all  the  members  and  wisely  to  regulate  their  action.  ...  It 
is  first  necessary,  then,  to  regulate  what  relates  to  princes,  to 
watch  over  their  safety,  and  to  protect  their  life,  and  then  to 
order  what  relates  to  the  people;  so  that  in  guaranteeing,  as  is 
fitting,  the  safety  of  kings,  they  at  the  same  time  guarantee,  and 
more  effectually,  that  of  the  people."* 

But,  in  the  system  of  religious  royalty,  another  element,  quite 
different  from  that  of  royalty  itself,  almost  always  introduced 
itself.  A  new  power  took  its  place  by  the  side  of  it,  a  power 
nearer  to  God,  to  the  source  whence  royalty  emanates,  than 
royalty  itself:  this  was  the  clergy,  the  ecclesiastical  power  which 
interposed  itself  between  God  and  kings  and  between  kings  and 
the  people;  so  that  royalty,  the  image  of  divinity,  ran  a  chance 
of  falling  to  the  rank  of  an  instrument  of  the  human  interpreters 
of  the  divine  will.  This  was  a  new  cause  of  diversity  in  tlie 
destinies  and  effects  of  the  institution. 

Here,  then,  we  see,  what  in  the  fifth  century  were  the  various 
royalties  which  manifested  themselves  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
Roman  Empire;  the  barbaric  royalty,  the  imperial  royalty  and 
the  rising  religious  royalty.  Their  fortunes  were  as  various  as 
their  principles. 

*  Forum  Judicum,  i.  lib.  2;  tit.  i.  1.  2,  1.4.. 


144  GUIZOT 

In  France,  under  the  first  race,  barbaric  royalty  prevailed; 
there  were  many  attempts  of  the  clergy  to  impress  upon  it  the 
imperial  or  religious  character;  but  election  in  the  royal  family, 
with  some  mixture  of  inheritance  and  religious  ideas,  remained 
dominant.  In  Italy,  among  the  Ostrogoths,  imperial  royalty 
superseded  the  barbarian  customs.  Theodoric  asserted  himself 
the  successor  of  the  emperors.  You  need  only  read  Cassiodorus, 
to  acknowledge  this  character  of  his  government. 

In  Spain,  royalty  appeared  more  religious  than  elsewhere; 
as  the  councils  of  Toledo  were,  I  will  not  say  the  masters,  but  the 
influencing  power,  the  religious  character  dominated,  if  not  in 
the  government,  properly  so-called,  of  the  Visigoth  kings  at 
least,  in  the  laws  with  which  the  clergy  inspired  them  and  the 
language  which  it  made  them  speak. 

In  England,  among  the  Saxons,  barbarian  manners  subsisted 
almost  entire.  The  kingdoms  of  the  heptarchy  were  merely  the 
domains  of  various  bands,  having  each  its  chief.  The  military 
election  is  more  evident  there  than  elsewhere.  Anglo-Saxon 
royalty  is  the  most  perfect  type  of  barbaric  royalty. 

Thus  from  the  fifth  to  the  twelfth  century  three  kinds  of 
royalty  manifested  themselves  at  the  same  time  in  general  facts; 
one  or  other  of  them  prevailed,  according  to  circumstances,  in 
each  of  the  different  states  of  Europe. 

The  chaos  was  such  at  this  epoch  that  nothing  universal  or 
permanent  could  be  established;  and,  from  one  vicissitude  to 
another,  we  arrive  at  the  eighth  century,  without  royalty  having 
anywhere  taken  a  definitive  character.  Toward  the  middle  of 
the  eighth  century,  with  the  triumph  of  the  second  race  of  the 
Frank  kings,  events  generalized  themselves  and  became  clearer; 
as  they  were  accomplished  upon  a  greater  scale  they  were  better 
understood  and  led  to  more  results.  You  will  shortly  see  the 
different  royalties  distinctly  succeed  and  combine  with  each 
other. 

At  the  time  when  the  Carlovingians  replace  the  Merovingians, 
a  return  of  barbaric  royalty  is  visible;  election  again  appears. 
Pepin  causes  himself  to  be  elected  at  Soissons.  When  the  first 
Carlovingians  give  the  kingdoms  to  their  sons,  they  take  care 
to  have  them  accepted  by  the  chief  persons  in  the  states  assigned 
them;  when  they  make  a  partition,  they  wish  it  to  be  sanctioned 
in  the  national  assemblies.  In  a  word,  the  elective  principle, 
under  the  form  of  public  acceptation,  reassumes  some  reality. 
You  bear  in  mind  that  this  change  of  dynasty  was  like  a  new 
invasion  of  the  Germans  in  the  west  of  Europe  and  brought 
back  some  shadow  of  their  ancient  institutions  and  manners. 

At  the  same  time  we  see  the  religious  principle  introduced 
more  clearly  into  royalty,  and  playing  therein  a  more  important 
part.    Pepin  was  acknowledged  and  crowned  by  the  pope.    He 


I 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  145 

had  need  of  religious  sanction ;  it  had  already  a  great  power,  and 
he  courted  it.  Charlemagne  took  the  same  precaution ;  religious 
royalty  was  developing.  Still  under  Charlemagne  this  character 
did  not  dominate;  imperial  royalty  was  evidently  what  he 
attempted  to  resuscitate.  Although  he  closely  allied  himself  to 
the  clergy,  and  made  use  of  them,  he  was  not  their  instrument. 
The  idea  of  a  great  state,  of  a  great  political  unity,  the  resur- 
rection of  the  Roman  Empire,  was  the  favorite  idea,  the  dream 
of  Charlemagne's  reign.  He  died,  and  was  succeeded  by  Louis 
le  Debonnaire.  Every  one  knows  what  character  the  royal 
power  instantly  assumed;  the  king  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
clergy,  who  censured,  deposed,  re-established,  and  governed 
him ;  religious  royalty,  late  subordinate,  seemed  on  the  point  of 
being  established. 

Thus,  from  the  middle  of  the  eighth  to  the  middle  of  the 
ninth  century,  the  diversity  of  three  kinds  of  royalty  manifested 
itself  in  important,  closely  connected,  and  palpable  events. 

After  the  death  of  Louis  le  Debonnaire,  in  the  dissolution 
into  which  Europe  fell,  the  three  species  of  royalty  disappeared 
almost  simultaneously;  all  became  confusion.  After  some  time, 
when  the  feudal  system  prevailed,  a  fourth  royalty  presented 
itself,  different  from  any  that  we  have  yet  seen;  this  was  feudal 
royalty.  This  is  confused,  and  very  difficult  to  define.  It  has 
been  said  that  the  king  in  the  feudal  system  was  sovereign  of 
sovereigns,  lord  of  lords,  that  he  held  by  sure  ties,  from  one  class 
to  another,  the  entire  society;  that  in  calling  around  him  his 
vassals,  then  the  vassals  of  his  vassals,  he  called  the  whole  nation, 
and  truly  showed  himself  a  king.  I  do  not  deny  that  this  was  the 
theory  of  feudal  royalty;  but  it  is  a  mere  theory,  which  has  never 
governed  facts.  That  general  influence  of  the  king  by  the  means 
of  an  hierarchial  organization,  those  ties  which  united  royalty 
to  the  entire  feudal  society,  are  the  dreams  of  publicists.  In 
fact,  the  greater  part  of  the  feudal  lords  were  at  this  epoch 
entirely  independent  of  royalty;  a  large  number  scarcely  knew 
the  name,  and  had  little  or  no  connection  with  it.  All  the 
sovereignties  were  local  and  independent:  the  title  of  king 
borne  by  one  of  the  feudal  lords  expressed  rather  a  remembrance 
than  a  fact. 

This  was  the  state  of  royalty  during  the  course  of  the  tenth 
and  eleventh  centuries.  In  the  twelfth,  with  the  reign  of  Louis 
le  Gros,  the  aspect  of  things  began  to  change.  We  more  often 
find  the  king  spoken  of;  his  influence  penetrated  into  places 
where  hitherto  he  had  never  made  way;  his  part  in  society 
became  more  active.  If  we  seek  by  what  title,  we  shall  recognize 
none  of  the  titles  of  which  royalty  had  hitherto  been  accustomed 
to  avail  itself.  It  was  not  as  the  heir  of  the  emperors,  or  by  the 
title  of  imperial  royalty,  that  it  aggrandized  itself  and  assumed 
10 


146  GUIZOT 

more  coherence;  nor  was  it  in  virtue  of  election,  nor  as  the 
emanation  of  divine  power.  All  trace  of  election  had  disap- 
peared, the  hereditary  principle  of  succession  had  become  defin- 
itively established ;  and  although  religion  sanctioned  the  acces- 
sion of  kings,  the  minds  of  men  did  not  appear  at  all  engrossed 
with  the  religious  character  of  the  royalty  of  Louis  le  Gros.  A 
new  element,  a  character  hitherto  unknown,  produced  itself  in 
royalty;  a  new  royalty  commenced. 

I  need  not  repeat  that  society  was  at  this  epoch  in  a  prodigious 
disorder,  a  prey  to  unceasing  violence.  Society  had  m  itself  no 
means  of  striving  against  this  deplorable  state,  of  regaining  any 
regularity  or  unity.  The  feudal  institutions,  those  parliaments 
of  barons,  those  seigneurial  courts,  all  those  forms  under  which 
in  modern  times,  feudalism  has  been  represented  as  a  systematic 
and  organized  regime,  all  this  was  devoid  of  reality,  of  power; 
there  was  nothing  there  which  could  re-establish  order  or  justice ; 
so  that,  amid  this  social  desolation,  none  knew  to  whom  to 
have  recourse  for  the  reparation  of  any  great  injustice,  or  to 
remedy  any  great  evil,  or  in  any  way  to  constitute  anything 
resembling  a  state.  The  name  of  king  remained;  a  lord  bore  it, 
and  some  few  addressed  themselves  to  him.  The  various  titles 
under  which  royalty  had  hitherto  presented  itself,  although  they 
did  not  exercise  any  great  control,  were  still  present  to  many 
minds,  and  on  some  occasions  were  recognized.  It  sometimes 
happened  that  they  had  recourse  to  the  king  to  repress  any 
scandalous  violence,  or  to  re-establish  something  like  order,  in 
any  place  near  to  his  residence,  or  to  terminate  any  difference 
which  had  long  existed;  he  was  sometimes  called  upon  to  inter- 
fere in  matters  not  strictly  within  his  jurisdiction ;  he  interfered 
as  the  protector  of  public  order,  as  arbitrator  and  redresser  of 
wrongs.  The  moral  authority  which  remained  attached  to  his 
name  by  degrees  attracted  to  him  this  power. 

Such  is  the  character  which  royalty  begun  to  take  under  Louis 
le  Gros,  and  under  the  administration  of  Suger.  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  we  see  in  the  minds  of  men  the  idea,  although  very 
incomplete,  confused  and  weak,  of  a  public  power,  foreign  to 
the  powers  which  possessed  society,  called  to  render  justice  to 
those  who  were  unable  to  obtain  it  by  ordinary  means,  capable 
of  establishing,  or,  at  least,  of  commanding  order;  the  idea  of  a 
great  magistrate,  whose  essential  character  was  that  of  main- 
taining or  re-establishing  peace,  of  protecting  the  weak,  and  of 
ending  differences  which  none  others  could  decide.  This  is  the 
entirely  new  character  under  which,  dating  from  the  twelfth 
century,  royalty  presented  itself  in  Europe,  and  especially  in 
France.  It  was  neither  as  a  barbarous  royalty,  a  religious 
royalty,  nor  as  an  imperial  royalty,  that  it  exercised  its  empire; 
it  possessed  only  a  limited,  incomplete  and  accidental  power; 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  147 

the  power,  as  it  were  (I  know  of  no  expression  more  exact), 
of  a  great  justice  of  peace  for  the  whole  nation. 

This  is  the  true  origin  of  modern  royalty;  this,  so  to  speak,  is 
its  vital  principle;  that  which  has  been  developed  in  the  course 
of  its  career,  and  which,  I  do  not  hesitate  in  saying,  has  brought 
about  its  success.  At  the  different  epochs  of  history,  we  see 
the  different  characters  of  royalty  reappear;  we  see  the  various 
royalties  which  I  have  described  attempting  by  turns  to  regain 
the  preponderance.  Thus  the  clergy  has  always  preached  relig- 
ious royalty;  jurisconsults  labored  to  resuscitate  imperial 
royalty;  and  the  nobles  have  sometimes  wished  to  revive  elective 
royalty,  or  the  feudal.  And  not  only  have  the  clergy,  juriscon- 
sults and  nobility  striven  to  make  dominant  in  royalty  such  or 
such  a  character;  it  has  itself  made  them  all  subservient  to  the 
aggrandizement  of  its  power;  kings  have  sometimes  represented 
themselves  as  the  delegates  of  God,  sometimes  as  the  successors 
of  the  emperors,  according  to  the  need  or  inclination  of  the 
moment;  they  have  illegitimately  availed  themselves  of  these 
various  titles,  but  none  of  them  has  been  the  veritable  title  of 
modern  royalty,  or  the  source  of  its  preponderating  influence. 
It  is,  I  repeat,  as  the  depositary  and  protector  of  public  order,  of 
universal  justice  and  common  interest — it  is  under  the  aspect 
of  great  magistracy,  the  center  and  union  of  society — that  it  has 
shown  itself  to  the  eyes  of  the  people,  and  has  appropriated 
their  strength  by  obtaining  their  adhesion. 

You  will  see,  as  we  advance;  this  characteristic  of  modern 
European  royalty,  which  commenced  at  the  twelfth  century, 
under  the  reign  of  Louis  le  Gros,  strengthen  and  develop  itself, 
and  become,  so  to  speak,  its  political  physiognomy.  It  is 
through  it  that  royalty  has  contributed  to  the  great  result 
which  characterizes  European  societies  in  the  present  day, 
namely,  the  reduction  of  all  social  elements  into  two,  the  govern- 
ment and  the  country. 

Thus,  at  the  termination  of  the  crusades,  Europe  entered  the 
path  which  was  to  conduct  it  to  its  present  state;  and  royalty 
took  its  appropriate  part  in  the  great  transformation.  In  our 
next  lecture  we  shall  study  the  different  attempts  made  at  polit- 
ical organization,  from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  with 
a  view  to  maintain,  by  regulating  it,  the  order,  then  almost  in 
ruin.  We  shall  consider  the  efforts  of  feudalism,  of  the  church, 
and  even  of  the  boroughs,  to  constitute  society  after  its  ancient 
principles,  and  under  its  primitive  forms,  and  thus  defend  them- 
selves against  the  general  metamorphosis  which  was  in  prepa- 
ration. 


TENTH    LECTURE. 

I  WISH  to  determine  correctly,  and  at  the  outset,  the  object 
of  this  lecture. 
You  will  recollect  that  one  of  the  first  facts  which  struck 
us  in  the  elements  of  ancient  European  society,  was  their  diver- 
sity, separation,  and  independence.  The  feudal  nobility,  clergy 
and  boroughs  had  a  situation,  laws  and  manners,  all  entirely 
different;  they  were  so  many  societies  which  governed  them- 
selves, each  upon  its  own  account,  and  by  its  own  rules  and 
power.  They  stood  in  relation  and  came  in  contact,  but  there 
was  no  true  union;  they  did  not  form,  properly  speaking,  a 
nation,  a  state. 

The  fusion  of  all  these  societies  into  one  has  been  accom- 
plished. It  is  precisely,  as  you  have  seen,  the  distinctive  fact, 
the  essential  character  of  modern  society.  The  ancient  social 
elements  are  reduced  to  two,  the  government  and  the  people; 
that  is  to  say,  the  diversity  has  ceased,  that  similitude  has  led  to 
union.  But  before  this  result  was  consummated,  and  even  with 
a  view  to  its  prevention,  many  efforts  were  tried  to  make  all 
particular  societies  live  and  act  in  common,  without  destroying 
their  diversity  or  independence.  It  was  not  wished  to  strike 
a  blow  in  any  way  prejudicial  to  their  situation,  privileges,  or 
special  nature,  and  yet  to  unite  them  in  a  single  state,  to  form  of 
them  one  nation,  to  rally  them  under  one  and  the  same  govern- 
ment. 

All  these  attempts  failed.  The  result  which  I  have  just  men- 
tioned, the  unity  of  modern  society,  proves  their  ill  success. 
Even  in  those  European  countries  where  some  traces  of  the 
ancient  diversity  of  social  elements,  in  Germany,  for  example, 
where  there  is  still  a  true  feudal  nobility,  and  a  bourgeoisie;  in 
England,  where  a  national  church  is  in  possession  of  special 
revenues  and  a  particular  jurisdiction,  it  is  clear  that  this  pre- 
tended distinct  existence  is  but  an  appearance,  an  illusion ;  that 
these  special  societies  are  politically  confounded  with  the  general 
society,  absorbed  in  the  state,  governed  by  the  public  powers, 
in  subjection  to  the  same  system,  and  carried  away  in  the 
current  of  the  same  ideas  and  the  same  manners.  I  repeat  that, 
where  even  the  form  of  it  still  subsists,  the  independence  of  the 
ancient  social  elements  has  no  reality. 

X48 


BANQUET   OF    WALLENSTEIN'S   GENERALS 
AT    PILSEN, 

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CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  149 

Still  these  attempts  to  make  them  co-ordinate  without  trans- 
forming them,  to  attach  them  to  a  national  unity  without  abolish- 
ing their  diversity,  have  held  an  important  place  in  the  history 
of  Europe;  they  partly  fill  the  epoch  which  now  occupies  our 
attention,  that  epoch  which  separates  primitive  from  modern 
Europe,  and  in  which  the  metamorphosis  of  European  society 
was  accomplished.  And  not  only  has  it  occupied  an  important 
place  therein,  but  it  has  also  greatly  influenced  posterior  events, 
and  the  manner  in  which  the  reduction  of  all  social  elements 
into  two,  the  government  and  the  public,  has  been  brought  ' 
about.  It  is,  therefore,  of  consequence  to  properly  estimate  and 
thoroughly  understand  all  the  essays  at  political  organization 
which  were  made  from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  to 
create  nations  and  governments,  without  destroying  the  diver- 
sity of  the  secondary  societies  placed  side  by  side.  Such  will  be 
our  business  in  this  lecture. 

It  is  a  difficult  and  even  a  painful  task.  These  attempts  at 
political  organization  have  not  all  been  conceived  and  directed 
with  a  good  intention;  many  of  them  have  had  no  other  views 
but  those  of  selfishness  and  tyranny.  More  than  one,  however, 
has  been  pure  and  disinterested;  more  than  one  has  really  had 
for  its  object  the  moral  and  social  good  of  mankind.  The  state  of 
incoherence,  violence  and  iniquity,  in  which  society  was  then 
placed,  shocked  great  minds  and  elevated  souls,  and  they  inces- 
santly sought  the  means  of  escaping  from  it.  Still,  even  the  best 
of  these  noble  essays  have  failed;  and  so  much  courage  and 
virtue,  so  many  sacrifices  and  efforts,  have  been  lost;  is  it  not  a 
heart-rending  spectacle?  There  is  even  one  thing  still  more 
painful,  the  source  of  a  sadness  still  more  bitter;  not  only  have 
these  attempts  at  social  amelioration  failed,  but  an  enormous 
mass  of  error  and  evil  has  been  mixed  up  therein.  Despite  the 
good  intention,  the  greater  part  were  absurd,  and  indicated  a 
profound  ignorance  of  reason,  justice,  the  rights  of  humanity, 
and  the  foundations  of  the  social  state;  so  that  not  only  has 
success  been  wanting  to  mankind,  but  they  have  merited  their 
failures.  We  here,  then,  have  the  spectacle,  not  only  of  the  hard 
destiny  of  humanity,  but  also  of  its  weakness.  One  may  here 
see  how  the  merest  instalment  of  truth  suffices  so  to  occupy  the 
greatest  minds  that  they  entirely  forget  all  the  rest,  and  become 
blind  to  everything  which  does  not  come  within  the  straightened 
horizon  of  their  ideas;  how  a  mere  glimpse  of  justice  in  a  cause 
suffices  to  make  them  lose  sight  of  all  the  injustice  which  it  in- 
volves and  permits.  This  outburst  of  the  vices  and  imperfection 
of  man,  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  contemplation  even  more  melan- 
choly than  the  misery  of  his  condition;  his  faults  weigh  more 
heavily  upon  me  than  his  sufferings.  The  attempts  which  I  have 
to  describe  exhibit  each  of  these  spectacles.    It  is  necessary  to 


I50  GUIZOT 

go  through  with  them,  and  to  be  just  toward  those  men,  those 
ages,  who  have  so  often  gone  astray,  and  have  so  cruelly  failed, 
and  who,  notwithstanding,  have  displayed  such  high  virtues, 
made  such  noble  efforts,  merited  so  much  glory! 

The  attempts  at  political  organization,  formed  from  the  twelfth 
to  the  sixteenth  century,  are  of  two  kinds :  the  object  of  the  one 
was  to  bring  about  the  predominance  of  a  particular  social  ele- 
ment, whether  the  clergy,  the  feudal  nobility,  or  the  boroughs ; 
to  make  all  the  others  subordinate  to  this,  and  on  these  terms 
to  establish  unity.  The  other  proposed  to  itself  to  reconcile  all 
the  particular  societies,  and  make  them  act  in  common,  leaving 
to  each  its  liberty,  and  guaranteeing  its  share  of  influence.  The 
first  class  of  these  attempts  is  much  more  liable  to  the  suspicion 
of  selfishness  and  tyranny  than  the  second.  They  have,  in  fact, 
oftener  been  tainted  with  these  vices;  they  are,  indeed,  by  their 
very  nature,  essentially  tyrannical  in  their  means  of  action. 
Some  of  them,  however,  may  have  been — in  fact,  have  been — 
conceived  with  pure  views  for  the  good  and  progress  of 
humanity. 

The  first  which  presents  itself  is  the  attempt  at  a  theocratical 
organization — that  is  to  say,  the  design  of  subduing  the  various 
classes  of  society  to  the  principles  and  empire  of  the  ecclesiastical 
society.  You  will  call  to  mind  what  I  have  said  concern- 
ing the  history  of  the  church.  I  have  endeavored  to  show 
what  principles  have  been  developed  within  it,  what  was  the 
share  of  legitimacy  of  each,  how  they  were  born  of  the  natural 
course  of  events,  what  services  they  have  rendered,  and  what 
evil  they  have  brought  about.  I  have  characterized  the  various 
states  into  which  the  church  passed  from  the  eighth  to  the 
twelfth  century;  I  have  shown  the  state  of  the  imperial  church, 
the  barbarian,  the  feudal,  and  lastly,  the  theocratical  church.  I 
suppose  these  recollections  to  be  present  to  your  minds ;  I  shall 
now  endeavor  to  indicate  what  the  clergy  did  to  dominate  in 
Europe,  and  why  they  failed. 

The  attempt  at  theocratical  organization  appeared  at  a  very 
early  period,  whether  in  the  acts  of  the  court  of  Rome,  or  in 
those  of  the  clergy  in  general;  it  naturally  resulted  from  the 
political  and  moral  superiority  of  the  church,  but  we  shall  find 
that  it  encountered,  from  the  first,  obstacles  which,  even  in  its 
greatest  vigor,  it  did  not  succeed  in  removing. 

The  first  was  the  very  nature  of  Christianity.  Wholly  different 
in  this  respect  from  the  greater  number  of  religious  creeds, 
Christianity  was  established  by  persuasion  alone,  by  simply 
moral  means;  it  was  never,  from  the  time  of  its  birth,  armed  with 
force.  In  the  early  ages  it  conquered  by  the  Word  alone,  and  it 
only  conquered  souls.  Hence  it  happened,  that  even  after  its 
triumph,  when  the  church  was  in  possession  of  great  riches  and 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  151 

consideration,  we  never  find  her  invested  with  the  direct  govern- 
ment of  society.  Her  origin,  purely  moral,  and  merely  by  means 
of  persuasion,  was  found  impressed  in  her  condition.  She  had 
much  influence,  but  she  had  no  power.  She  insinuated  herself 
into  the  municipal  magistracies,  she  acted  powerfully  upon  the 
emperors  and  their  agents,  but  she  had  not  the  positive  admin- 
istration of  public  affairs,  the  government,  properly  so  called. 
Now  a  system  of  government — the  theocratical  or  any  other — 
cannot  be  established  in  an  indirect  manner  by  mere  force  of 
influence;  it  is  necessary  to  administer,  command,  receive  taxes, 
dispose  of  revenues,  govern,  in  a  word,  actually  to  take  posses- 
sion of  society.  When  nations  and  governments  are  acted  upon 
by  persuasion,  much  may  be  effected,  and  a  great  empire  exer- 
cised; but  there  would  be  no  government,  no  system  would  be 
founded,  the  future  could  not  be  provided  for.  Such  has  been, 
from  its  very  origin,  the  situation  of  the  Christian  church;  she 
has  always  been  at  the  side  of  the  government  of  society,  but 
she  has  never  removed  it  and  taken  its  place;  a  great  obstacle 
which  the  attempt  at  theocratical  organization  could  not  sur- 
mount. 

She  met  at  a  very  early  period  with  a  second  obstacle.  The 
Roman  Empire  once  fallen,  and  the  barbarian  states  founded, 
the  church  found  herself  among  the  conquered.  The  first  thing 
necessary  was  to  escape  this  situation;  the  work  she  had  to 
commence  by  converting  the  conquerors,  and  thus  raising  her- 
self to  their  rank.  When  this  task  was  accomplished,  and  the 
church  aspired  to  domination,  she  encountered  the  pride  and 
resistance  of  the  feudal  nobility.  This  was  a  great  service  ren- 
dered to  Europe  by  the  feudal  laity;  in  the  eleventh  century 
nations  were  almost  entirely  subjected  to  the  church — sover- 
eigns were  scarce  able  to  defend  themselves ;  the  feudal  nobility 
alone  never  received  the  yoke  of  the  clergy,  never  humbled  them- 
selves before  it.  One  need  only  recall  the  general  physiognomy 
of  the  middle  ages  to  be  struck  by  the  singular  mixture  of 
haughtiness  and  submission,  of  blind  credulity  and  freedom  of 
mind  in  the  relations  between  the  lay  lords  and  the  priests ;  we 
there  see  some  wreck  of  their  primitive  condition.  You  will  call 
to  mind  how  I  endeavored  to  represent  to  you  the  origin  of  feu- 
dalism, its  first  elements,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  elementary 
feudal  society  was  formed  around  the  habitation  of  the  fief- 
holder.  I  remarked  how  in  that  society  the  priest  was  below  the 
lord.  Well,  there  always  remained  in  the  heart  of  the  feudal 
nobility  a  recollection  and  feeling  of  this  situation;  it  always 
regarded  itself,  not  only  as  independent  of  the  church,  but  as 
superior  to  it,  as  alone  called  to  possess  and  really  govern  the 
country;  it  was  always  willing  to  live  in  concord  with  the 
clergy,  but  so  as  to  guard  its  own  interests,  and  not  to  give  in 


152  GUIZOT 

to  those  of  the  clergy.  During  many  centuries  it  was  the  lay 
aristocracy  which  maintained  the  independence  of  society  with 
regard  to  the  church — that  haughtily  defended  it  when  kings 
and  people  were  subdued.  It  was  the  first  to  oppose,  and  per- 
haps contributed  more  than  any  other  power  to  the  failure  of  the 
attempt  at  a  theocratical  organization  of  society. 

A  third  obstacle  was  likewise  opposed,  of  which  in  general 
but  little  account  has  been  held,  and  often  even  its  effects  been 
misconstrued. 

Wherever  a  clergy  has  seized  upon  society  and  subjected  it 
to  a  theocratical  organization,  it  is  upon  a  married  clergy  that 
this  empire  has  devolved,  upon  a  body  of  priests  recruiting 
themselves  from  their  own  bosom,  and  bringing  up  their  chil- 
dren from  their  very  birth  in  and  for  the  same  situation.  Exam- 
ine history :  look  at  Asia,  Egypt ;  all  the  great  theocracies  are  the 
work  of  a  clergy  which  is  a  complete  society  in  itself,  which 
suffices  for  its  own  wants  and  borrows  nothing  from  without. 

By  the  celibacy  of  priests  the  Christian  clergy  was  in  an 
entirely  different  position;  it  was  obliged,  in  order  to  its  per- 
petuation, to  have  continual  recourse  to  the  laity;  to  seek  from 
abroad,  in  all  social  positions  and  professions,  the  means  of 
duration.  In  vain  did  the  esprit-de-corps  labor  afterward  to 
assimilate  these  foreign  elements;  something  of  the  origin  of 
the  new-comers  always  remained;  burghers  or  nobles,  they 
always  preserved  some  trace  of  their  ancient  spirit,  their  former 
condition.  Doubtless  celibacy,  in  placing  the  Catholic  clergy 
in  an  entirely  special  situation,  foreign  to  the  interests  and 
common  life  of  mankind,  has  been  to  it  a  chief  cause  of  isolation  ; 
but  it  has  thus  unceasingly  forced  it  into  connection  with  lay 
society,  in  order  to  recruit  and  renew  itself  therefrom,  to  receive 
and  undergo  some  part  of  the  moral  revolutions  which  were  ac- 
complished in  it  ;  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  this  necessity, 
constantly  renewing,  has  beeh  much  more  prejudicial  to  the  suc- 
cess of  the  attempt  at  theocratical  organization  than  the  csprit- 
de-corps,  strongly  maintained  by  celibacy,  has  been  able  to  pro- 
mote it. 

The  church  finally  encountered,  within  her  own  bosom,  pow- 
erful adversaries  to  this  attempt.  Much  has  been  said  concern- 
ing the  unity  of  the  church,  and  it  is  true  she  has  constantly 
aspired  to  it,  and  in  some  respects  has  happily  attained  it.  But 
let  us  not  be  deceived  by  the  pomp  of  words,  nor  by  that  of  par- 
tial facts.  What  society  has  presented  more  civil  dissensions,  or 
undergone  more  dismemberment  than  the  clergy?  What  na- 
tion has  been  more  divided,  more  disordered,  more  unfixed  than 
the  ecclesiastical  nation?  The  national  churches  of  the  majority 
of  European  countries  almost  incessantly  struggled  against  the 
court  of  Rome ;  councils  struggled  against  popes ;  heresies  have 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  153 

been  innumerable  and  constantly  renewing,  schisms  always  in 
readiness  ;  nowhere  has  there  been  such  diversity  of  opinions, 
such  fury  in  contest,  such  parcelling  out  of  power.  The  in- 
ternal life  of  the  church,  the  divisions  which  have  broken  out  in 
it,  the  revolutions  which  have  agitated  it,  have,  perhaps,  been 
the  greatest  obstacles  to  the  triumph  of  that  organization  which 
she  has  attempted  to  impose  upon  society. 

All  these  obstacles  were  in  action  and  visible  in  the  very  cradle 
of  the  great  attempt  which  we  have  in  review.  They  did  not, 
however,  prevent  its  following  its  course,  nor  its  being  in  prog- 
ress for  many  centuries.  Its  most  glorious  time,  its  day  of 
crisis,  so  to  speak,  was  in  the  reign  of  Gregory  VII,  at  the  end 
of  the  eleventh  century.  You  have  already  seen  that  the  dom- 
inant idea  of  Gregory  VII  was  to  subjugate  the  world  to  the 
clergy,  the  clergy  to  the  papal  power,  and  Europe  to  a  vast  and 
regular  theocracy.  In  this  design,  as  far  as  it  may  be  permitted 
us  to  judge  of  events  at  such  a  distance,  this  great  man  commit- 
ted, in  my  opinion,  two  great  faults  ;  one  the  fault  of  a  theorist, 
the  other  of  a  revolutionist.  The  first  was  that  of  ostentatiously 
displaying  his  plan,  of  systematically  proclaiming  his  principles 
on  the  nature  and  rights  of  spiritual  power,  of  drawing  from 
them  beforehand,  like  an  intractable  logician,  the  most  distant 
consequences.  He  thus  menaced  and  attacked  all  the  lay  sover- 
eignties of  Europe,  before  being  assured  of  the  means  of  con- 
quering them.  Success  in  human  afifairs  is  neither  obtained  by 
such  absolute  proceedings,  nor  in  the  name  of  philosophical 
argument.  Moreover,  Gregory  VII  fell  into  the  common 
error  of  revolutionists,  that  of  attempting  more  than  they  can 
execute,  and  not  taking  the  possible  as  the  measure  and  limit  of 
their  efiforts.  In  order  to  hasten  the  domination  of  his  ideas,  he 
engaged  in  contest  with  the  empire,  with  all  the  sovereigns  and 
with  the  clergy  itself.  He  hesitated  at  no  consequence,  nor 
cared  for  any  interest,  but  haughtily  proclaimed  that  he  willed 
to  reign  over  all  kingdoms,  as  well  as  over  all  minds,  and  thus 
raised  against  him,  on  one  side,  all  the  temporal  powers,  who 
saw  themselves  in  pressing  danger,  and  on  the  other  the  free- 
thinkers, who  began  to  appear,  and  who  already  dreaded  the 
tyranny  over  thought.  Upon  the  whole,  Gregory  perhaps  com- 
promised more  than  he  advanced  the  cause  he  wished  to  serve. 

It,  however,  continued  to  prosper  during  the  whole  of  the 
twelfth  and  down  to  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century.  This 
is  the  time  of  the  greatest  power  and  brilliancy  of  the  church, 
though  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  strictly  said  that  she  made  any 
great  progress  in  that  epoch.  Down  to  the  end  of  the  reign  of 
Innocent  III  she  rather  cultivated  than  extended  her  glory  and 
power.  It  was  at  the  moment  of  her  greatest  apparent  success 
that  a  popular  reaction  declared  itself  against  her  in  a  large  por- 


154  GUIZOT 

tion  of  Europe.  In  the  south  of  France  the  heresy  of  the  Al- 
bigenses  broke  forth,  which  took  possession  of  an  entire,  numer- 
ous, and  powerful  community.  Almost  at  the  same  time  in  the 
north,  in  Flanders,  ideas  and  desires  of  the  same  nature  ap- 
peared. A  little  later,  in  England,  Wyclif  attacked  with  talent 
the  power  of  the  church,  and  founded  a  sect  which  will  never 
perish.  Sovereigns  did  not  long  delay  entering  the  same  path 
as  the  people.  It  was  at  the  commencement  of  the  thirteenth 
century  that  the  most  powerful  and  the  ablest  sovereigns  of 
Europe,  the  emperors  of  the  house  of  Hohenstaufen,  succumbed 
in  their  struggle  with  the  papacy.  During  this  century  Saint 
Louis,  the  most  pious  of  kings,  proclaimed  the  independence  of 
the  temporal  power,  and  published  the  first  Pragmatic  Sanction, 
which  has  been  the  basis  of  all  others.  At  the  commencement 
of  the  fourteenth  century  the  quarrel  broke  out  between  Philip  le 
Bel  and  Boniface  VIII ;  the  king  of  England,  Edward  I,  was 
not  more  docile  toward  Rome.  At  this  epoch,  it  is  clear,  the  at- 
tempt at  a  theocratical  organization  has  failed;  the  church 
henceforth,  will  be  on  the  defensive ;  she  will  no  longer  under- 
take to  impose  her  system  upon  Europe ;  her  only  thought  will 
be  to  preserve  what  she  has  conquered.  It  is  from  the  end  of 
the  thirteenth  century  that  the  emancipation  of  the  European 
lay  society  really  dates ;  it  was  then  that  the  church  ceased  to 
pretend  to  the  possession  of  it. 

She  had  long  before  renounced  this  claim,  in  the  very  sphere 
in  which  she  seemed  to  have  had  the  best  chance  of  success. 
Long  since,  upon  the  very  threshold  of  the  church,  around  her 
very  throne  in  Italy,  theocracy  had  completely  failed,  and  given 
place  to  an  entirely  different  system — to  that  attempt  at  a  demo- 
cratical  organization,  of  which  the  Italian  republics  are  the  type, 
and  which,  from  the  eleventh  to  the  sixteenth  century,  played  so 
brilliant  a  part  in  Europe. 

You  recollect  what  I  have  already  related  of  the  history  of  the 
boroughs,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  were  formed.  In 
Italy,  their  destiny  was  more  precocious  and  powerful  than  any- 
where else  ;  the  towns  there  were  much  more  numerous  and 
wealthy  than  in  Gaul,  Britain,  or  Spain ;  the  Roman  municipal 
system  remained  more  full  of  life  and  regular  there. 

The  country  parts  of  Italy,  also,  were  much  less  fit  to  become 
the  habitation  of  their  new  masters,  than  those  of  the  rest  of 
Europe.  They  had  everywhere  been  cleared,  drained,  and  culti- 
vated ;  they  were  not  clothed  with  forests ;  here  the  barbarians 
were  unable  to  follow  the  hazards  of  the  chase,  or  to  lead  an 
analogous  life  to  that  of  Germany.  Moreover,  one  part  of  this 
territory  did  not  belong  to  them.  The  south  of  Italy,  the  Cam- 
pagna  di  Roma  and  Ravenna,  continued  to  depend  upon  the 
Greek  emperors.     Favored  by  its  distance  from  the  sovereign 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  155 

and  the  vicissitudes  of  war,  the  republican  system,  at  an  early 
period,  gained  strength  and  developed  itself  in  this  part  of  the 
country.  And  not  only  the  whole  of  Italy  was  not  in  the  power 
of  the  barbarians,  but  even  where  the  barbarians  did  conquer  it, 
they  did  not  remain  in  tranquil  and  definitive  possession.  The 
Ostrogoths  were  destroyed  and  driven  out  by  Belisarius  and 
Narses.  The  kingdom  of  the  Lombards  succeeded  no  better  in 
establishing  itself.  The  Franks  destroyed  it ;  and,  without  de- 
stroying the  Lombard  population,  Pepin  and  Charlemagne 
judged  it  expedient  to  form  an  alliance  with  the  ancient  Italian 
population,  in  order  to  struggle  against  the  recently  conquered 
Lombards.  The  barbarians,  then,  were  not  in  Italy,  as  else- 
where, the  exclusive  and  undisturbed  masters  of  the  land  and  of 
society.  Hence  it  was,  that  beyond  the  Alps,  only  a  weak,  thin, 
and  scattered  feudalism  was  estabHshed.  The  preponderance, 
instead  of  passing  into  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  parts,  as 
had  happened  in  Gaul,  for  example,  continued  to  appertain  to 
the  towns.  When  this  result  became  evident,  a  large  portion  of 
the  fief-holders,  either  from  free-will  or  necessity,  ceased  to  in- 
habit the  country,  and  settled  in  the  cities.  Barbarian  nobles 
became  burghers.  You  may  imagine  what  power  and  superiority 
this  single  fact  gave  the  Italian  towns  as  compared  with  the  other 
boroughs  of  Europe.  What  we  have  remarked  in  these  latter, 
was  the  inferiority  and  timidity  of  the  population.  The  burghers 
appeared  to  us  like  courageous  freed  men  painfully  struggling 
against  a  master  who  was  always  at  their  gates.  The  burghers 
of  Italy  were  very  diflferent ;  the  conquering  and  the  conquered 
population  mixed  within  the  same  walls ;  the  towns  had  not  to 
defend  themselves  from  a  neighboring  master;  their  inhab- 
itants were  citizens,  from  all  time  free,  at  least  the  majority  of 
them,  who  defended  their  independence  and  their  rights  against 
distant  and  foreign  sovereigns,  at  one  time  against  the  Frank 
kings,  at  another  against  the  emperors  of  Germany.  Hence,  the 
immense  and  early  superiority  of  the  towns  of  Italy :  while  else- 
where even  the  poorest  boroughs  were  formed  with  infinite 
trouble,  here  we  see  republics,  states  arise. 

Thus  is  explained  the  success  of  the  attempt  at  republican 
organization  in  this  part  of  Europe.  It  subdued  feudalism  at  a 
very  early  period,  and  became  the  dominant  form  of  society. 
But  it  was  little  calculated  to  spread  or  perpetuate  itself;  it  con- 
tained but  few  germs  of  amelioration,  the  necessary  condition  to 
extension  and  duration. 

When  we  examine  the  history  of  the  republics  of  Italy,  from 
the  eleventh  to  the  fifteenth  century,  we  are  struck  with  two  ap- 
parently contradictory  yet  incontestable  facts.  We  find  an  ad- 
mirable development  of  courage,  activity  and  genius,  and  in  con- 
sequence great  prosperity;  there  is  there  a  movement  and  lib- 


156  GUIZOT 

erty  which  is  wanting  to  the  rest  of  Europe.  Let  us  ask,  what 
was  the  real  condition  of  the  inhabitants,  how  their  Hfe  was 
passed,  what  was  their  share  of  happiness?  Here  the  aspect 
changes;  no  history  can  be  more  melancholy  and  gloomy. 
There  is,  perhaps,  no  epoch  or  country  in  which  the  position  of 
man  appears  to  have  been  more  agitated,  subject  to  more  de- 
plorable mischances,  or  where  we  meet  with  more  dissensions, 
crimes,  and  misfortunes.  Another  fact  is  manifest  at  the  same 
time ;  in  the  political  system  of  the  greater  part  of  the  republics 
liberty  continually  diminished.  The  want  of  security  was  such 
that  the  factions  were  inevitably  forced  to  seek  refuge  in  a 
system  less  tempestuous,  though  less  popular,  than  that  with 
which  the  state  had  commenced.  Take  the  history  of  Florence, 
Venice,  Genoa,  Milan,  Pisa  ;  you  will  everywhere  see  that  the 
general  course  of  events,  instead  of  developing  liberty,  and  en- 
larging the  circle  of  institutions,  tends  to  contract  it,  and  to  con- 
centre the  power  within  the  hands  of  a  small  number  of  men.  In 
a  word,  in  these  republics,  so  energetic,  brilliant,  and  wealthy, 
two  things  were  wanting :  security  of  life,  the  first  condition  of 
a  social  state,  and  the  progress  of  institutions. 

Thence  a  new  evil,  which  did  not  allow  of  the  extension  of  the 
attempt  at  republican  organization.  It  was  from  without,  from 
foreign  sovereigns,  that  the  greatest  danger  was  threatened  to 
Italy.  Yet  this  danger  had  never  the  effect  of  reconciling  these 
republics  and  making  them  act  in  concert  ;  they  would  never 
resist  in  common  a  common  enemy.  Many  of  the  most  enlight- 
ened Italians,  accordingly,  the  best  patriots  of  our  time,  deplore 
the  republican  system  of  Italy  in  the  middle  ages  as  the  real  cause 
of  its  never  having  become  a  nation.  It  was  parcelled  out,  they 
say,  into  a  multitude  of  petty  people,  too  much  under  the  control 
of  their  passions  to  allow  of  their  confederating,  or  constituting 
themselves  a  state.  They  regret  that  their  country,  like  the  rest 
of  Europe,  has  not  passed  through  a  despotic  centralization 
which  would  have  formed  it  into  a  nation,  and  have  rendered  it 
independent  of  foreigners.  It  seems,  then,  that  the  republican 
organization,  even  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  did 
not  contain  within  itself  at  this  epoch  the  principle  of  progress, 
of  duration,  extension — that  it  had  no  future.  Up  to  a  certain 
point,  one  may  compare  the  organization  of  Italy  in  the  middle 
ages  to  that  of  ancient  Greece.  Greece  also  was  a  country  full 
of  petty  republics,  always  rivals  and  often  enemies,  and  some- 
times rallying  toward  a  common  end.  The  advantage  in  this 
comparison  is  entirely  with  Greece.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that,  although  history  gives  us  many  instances  of  iniquity  in 
them,  too,  there  was  more  order,  security,  and  justice  in  the  in- 
terior of  Athens,  Lacedaemon,  Thebes,  than  in  the  Italian  repub- 
lics.   Yet  how  short  was  the  political  existence  of  Greece! 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  157 

What  a  principle  of  weakness  existed  in  that  parcelling  out  of 
power  and  territory!  When  Greece  came  in  contact  with  great 
neighboring  states,  with  Macedonia  and  Rome,  she  at  once  suc- 
cumbed. These  small  republics,  so  glorious  and  still  so  flour- 
ishing, could  not  form  a  coalition  for  defense.  How  much 
stronger  was  the  reason  for  the  same  result  happening  in  Italy, 
where  society  and  human  reason  had  been  so  much  less  de- 
veloped and  less  firm  than  among  the  Greeks. 

If  the  attempt  at  republican  organization  had  so  little  chance 
of  duration  in  Italy,  where  it  had  triumphed,  where  the  feudal 
system  had  been  vanquished,  you  may  easily  conceive  that  it 
would  much  sooner  succumb  in  the  other  parts  of  Europe. 

I  will  rapidly  place  its  destinies  before  you. 

There  was  one  portion  of  Europe  which  bore  a  great  resem- 
blance to  Italy ;  this  was  the  south  of  France  and  the  neighbor- 
ing Spanish  provinces,  Catalonia,  Navarre,  and  Biscay.  There 
likewise  the  towns  had  gained  great  development,  importance, 
and  wealth.  Many  of  the  petty  lords  were  allied  with  the 
burghers ;  a  portion  of  the  clergy  had  likewise  embraced  their 
cause;  in  a  word,  the  country  was  in  a  situation  remarkably 
analogous  to  that  of  Italy.  Accordingly,  in  the  course  of  the 
eleventh  century,  and  at  the  commencement  of  the  twelfth,  the 
towns  of  Provence,  Languedoc,  and  Aquitaine,  aimed  at  a  polit- 
ical flight,  at  forming  themselves  into  independent  republics, 
just  like  those  beyond  the  Alps.  But  the  south  of  France  was 
in  contact  with  a  very  strong  feudalism,  that  of  the  north.  At 
this  time  occurred  the  heresy  of  the  Albigenses,  and  war  broke 
out  between  feudal  and  municipal  France.  You  know  the  his- 
tory of  the  crusade  against  the  Albigenses,  under  Simon  de 
Montfort.  This  was  the  contest  of  the  feudalism  of  the  north 
against  the  attempt  at  democratical  organization  of  the  south. 
Despite  the  southern  patriotism,  the  north  carried  the  day; 
political  unity  was  wanting  in  the  south,  and  civilization  was  not 
sufficiently  advanced  for  men  to  supply  its  place  by  concert. 
The  attempt  at  republican  organization  was  put  down,  and  the 
crusade  re-established  the  feudal  system  in  the  south  of  France. 

At  a  later  period,  the  republican  attempt  met  with  better  suc- 
cess in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland.  There  the  theater  was 
very  straitened.  They  had  only  to  struggle  against  a  foreign 
sovereign,  who,  although  of  a  superior  force  to  the  Swiss,  was 
by  no  means  among  the  most  formidable  sovereigns  of  Europe. 
The  struggle  was  courageously  sustained.  The  Swiss  feudal 
nobility  allied  themselves  in  a  great  measure  with  the  towns — a 
powerful  succor,  which,  however,  altered  the  nature  of  the  revo- 
lution which  it  aided,  and  imprinted  upon  it  a  more  aristocratic 
and  less  progressive  character  than  it  seemed  at  first  intended  to 
bear. 


158  GUIZOT 

I  now  pass  to  the  north  of  France,  to  the  boroughs  of  Flan- 
ders, the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  the  Hanseatic  league.  There 
the  democratical  organization  triumphed  fully  in  the  interior  of 
the  towns;  yet,  we  perceive,  from  its  outset,  that  it  was  not 
destined  to  extend  itself,  or  to  take  entire  possession  of  society. 
The  boroughs  of  the  north  were  surrounded  and  oppressed  by 
feudalism,  by  lords  and  sovereigns,  so  that  they  were  constantly 
on  the  defensive.  It  is  clear  that  all  they  did  was  to  defend 
themselves  as  well  as  they  could;  they  essayed  no  conquests. 
They  preserved  their  privileges,  but  remained  shut  up  within 
their  own  walls.  There  the  democratical  organization  was  con- 
fined and  stopped  short ;  if  we  go  elsewhere  into  the  country,  we 
do  not  find  it. 

You  see  what  was  the  state  of  the  republican  attempt.  Tri- 
umphant in  Italy,  but  with  little  chance  of  success  or  progress  ; 
vanquished  in  the  south  of  Gaul;  victorious  on  a  small  scale 
in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland ;  in  the  north,  in  the  boroughs 
of  Flanders,  the  Rhine,  and  the  Hanseatic  league,  con- 
demned never  to  pass  beyond  the  town  walls.  Still,  in  this  posi- 
tion, evidently  inferior  in  force  to  the  other  elements  of  society, 
it  inspired  the  feudal  nobility  with  a  prodigious  terror.  The 
lords  were  jealous  of  the  wealth  of  the  boroughs,  and  feared  their 
power;  the  democratical  spirit  penetrated  into  the  rural  dis- 
tricts ;  the  insurrections  of  the  peasants  became  more  frequent 
and  obstinate.  A  great  coalition  was  formed  among  the  feudal 
nobility  against  the  boroughs,  almost  throughout  Europe.  The 
party  was  unequal ;  the  boroughs  were  isolated ;  there  was  no 
understanding  or  communication  between  them ;  all  was  local. 
There  existed,  indeed,  a  certain  sympathy  between  the  burghers 
of  various  countries.  The  successes  or  reverses  of  the  towns  in 
Flanders  in  the  struggles  with  the  dukes  of  Burgundy  certainly 
excited  a  lively  emotion  in  the  French  towns.  But  this  emotion 
was  transitory  and  without  result.  No  tie,  no  real  union,  was 
established.  Nor  did  the  boroughs  lend  strength  to  one  an- 
other. Feudalism,  then,  had  immense  advantages  over  them. 
But,  itself  divided  and  incoherent,  it  did  not  succeed  in  destroy- 
ing them.  When  the  struggle  had  lasted  a  certain  time,  when 
they  had  acquired  the  conviction  that  a  complete  victory  was  im- 
possible, it  became  necessary  to  acknowledge  the  petty  republican 
burghers,  to  treat  with  them,  and  to  receive  them  as  members  ol 
the  state.  Then  a  new  order  commenced,  a  new  attempt  at 
political  organization,  that  of  mixed  organization,  the  object  of 
which  was  to  reconcile  all  the  elements  of  society,  the  feudal 
nobility,  the  boroughs,  clergy  and  sovereigns,  and  to  make  them 
live  and  act  together  in  spite  of  their  profound  hostility. 

All  of  you  know  what  are  the  States-general  in  France,  the 
Cortes  in  Spain  and  Portugal,  the  Parliament  in  England,  and 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  1^9 

the  Diets  in  Germany.  You  know,  likewise,  what  were  the  ele- 
ments of  these  various  assemblies.  The  feudal  nobility,  the 
clergy  and  the  boroughs,  collected  at  them  with  a  view  to  unite 
themselves  into  a  single  society,  into  one  state,  under  one  law 
and  one  power.  They  all,  under  various  names,  have  the  same 
tendency  and  design. 

I  shall  take,  as  the  type  of  this  attempt,  the  fact  which  is  the 
most  interesting  and  the  best  known  to  us,  namely,  the  States- 
general  in  France.  I  say  the  best  known  to  us ;  yet  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  name  of  States-general  awakens  in  your  minds 
only  vague  and  incomplete  ideas.  None  of  you  can  say  what 
there  was  fixed  or  regular  in  the  States-general  of  France,  what 
was  the  number  of  their  members,  what  the  subjects  of  delibera- 
tion, or  what  the  periods  of  convocation,  and  the  duration  of 
sessions ;  nothing  is  known  of  these  things ;  it  is  impossible  to 
draw  from  history  any  clear,  general,  or  universal  results  as  to 
this  subject.  When  we  examine  closely  the  character  of  these 
assemblies  in  the  history  of  France,  they  look  like  mere  acci- 
dents, political  last  resource  alike  for  people  and  knigs ;  as  a  last 
resource  for  kings  when  they  had  no  money,  and  knew  not  how 
to  escape  from  their  embarrassments ;  and  as  a  last  resource  for 
the  people  when  the  evil  became  so  great  that  they  knew  not 
what  remedy  to  apply.  The  nobility  were  present  in  the  States- 
general  ;  the  clergy  likewise  took  part  in  them ;  but  they  came 
full  of  indifference,  for  they  knew  that  this  was  not  their  great 
means  of  action,  that  they  could  not  promote  by  it  the  real  part 
they  took  in  the  government.  The  burghers  themselves  were 
scarcely  more  eager  about  it ;  it  was  not  a  right  which  they  took 
an  interest  in  exercising,  but  a  necessity  which  they  tolerated. 
Thus  may  be  seen  the  character  of  the  political  activity  of  these 
assemblies.  They  were  sometimes  utterly  insignificant,  and 
sometimes  terrible.  If  the  king  was  the  strongest,  their  humility 
and  docility  were  carried  to  an  extreme ;  if  the  situation  of  the 
crown  was  unfortunate,  if  it  had  absolute  need  of  the  states, 
they  fell  into  faction  and  became  the  instruments  of  some  aris- 
tocratical  intrigue,  or  some  ambitious  leaders.  In  a  word,  they 
were  sometimes  mere  assemblies  of  notables,  sometimes  regular 
conventions.  Thus  their  works  almost  always  died  with  them ; 
they  promised  and  attempted  much,  and  did  nothing.  None  of 
the  great  measures  which  have  really  acted  upon  society  in 
France,  no  important  reform  in  the  government,  the  legislation, 
or  the  administration,  has  emanated  from  the  States-general.  It 
must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  they  were  without  utility  or 
effect ;  they  have  had  a  moral  effect,  of  which  too  little  account 
is  generally  taken ;  they  have  been,  from  one  epoch  to  another, 
a  protest  against  political  servitude,  a  violent  proclamation  of 
certain  tutelary  principles;  for  example,  that  the  country  has 


i6o  GUIZOT 

the  right  to  impose  taxes,  to  interfere  in  its  own  affairs,  and  to 
impose  a  responsibility  upon  the  agents  of  power. 

That  these  maxims  have  never  perished  in  France  is  to  be  at- 
tributed to  the  States-general,  and  it  is  no  small  service  to  render 
to  a  people,  to  maintain  in  its  manners,  and  renew  in  its  thoughts 
the  remembrances  and  rights  of  liberty.  The  States-general 
have  possessed  this  virtue,  but  they  have  never  been  a  means  of 
government;  they  have  never  entered  into  the  political  organi- 
zation ;  they  have  never  attained  the  end  for  which  they  were 
formed,  that  is  to  say,  the  fusion  into  a  single  body  of  the  various 
societies  which  divided  the  country. 

The  Cortes  of  Spain  and  Portugal  offer  us  the  same  result.  In 
a  thousand  circumstances,  however,  they  are  different.  The  im- 
portance of  the  Cortes  varies  according  to  place  and  time ;  in 
Aragon  and  Biscay,  amid  the  debates  concerning  the  succession 
to  the  crown,  or  the  struggle  against  the  Moors,  they  were  more 
frequently  convoked  and  more  powerful.  In  certain  Cortes,  for 
example,  in  those  of  Castile  in  1370  and  1373,  the  nobles  and  the 
clergy  were  not  called.  There  is  a  crowd  of  details  which  it  is 
necessary  should  be  taken  into  account,  if  we  look  closely  into 
events.  But  in  the  general  view  to  which  I  am  obliged  to  con- 
fine myself,  it  may  be  said  of  the  Cortes,  as  of  the  States-general 
of  France,  that  they  have  been  an  accident  in  history,  and  never 
a  system,  political  organization,  or  a  regular  means  of  govern- 
ment. 

The  destiny  of  England  was  different.  I  shall  not  now  enter 
upon  this  subject  in  detail.  I  propose  to  devote  one  lecture 
especially  to  the  political  life  of  England ;  I  shall  now  merely 
say  a  few  words  upon  the  causes  which  have  imparted  to  it  a  di- 
rection entirely  different  from  that  of  the  continent. 

And,  first,  there  were  no  great  vassals  in  England,  no  subject 
in  a  condition  to  strive  personally  against  royalty.  The  English 
barons  and  great  lords  were  obliged  to  coalesce  in  order  to  resist 
in  common.  Thus  have  prevailed,  in  the  high  aristocracy,  the 
principle  of  association  and  true  political  manners.  Moreover, 
English  feudalism,  the  petty  fief-holders,  have  been  gradually 
led  by  a  series  of  events,  which  I  cannot  enumerate  at  present,  to 
unite  themselves  with  the  burghers,  to  sit  with  them  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  which  thus  possessed  a  power  superior  to 
that  of  the  continental  assemblies,  a  force  truly  capable  of  influ- 
encing the  government  of  the  country.  Let  us  see  what  was  the 
state  of  the  British  Parliament  in  the  fourteenth  century.  The 
House  of  Lords  was  the  great  council  of  the  king,  a  council 
actively  associated  in  the  exercise  of  power.  The  House  of 
Commons,  composed  of  the  deputies  of  the  petty  fief-holders, 
and  of  burghers,  took  scarcely  any  part  in  the  government,  prop- 
erly so  called,  but  it  established  rights,  and  very  energetically 


i 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  i6i 

defended  private  and  local  interests.  The  Parliament,  consid- 
ered as  a  whole,  did  not  yet  govern,  but  it  was  already  a  regular 
institution,  a  means  of  government  adopted  in  principle,  and 
often,  in  fact,  indispensable.  Thus  the  attempt  at  junction  and 
alliance  between  the  various  elements  of  society,  with  a  view  to 
form  of  them  a  single  political  body,  a  regular  state,  was  success- 
ful in  England,  while  it  had  failed  everywhere  on  the  continent. 

I  shall  say  but  a  few  words  as  to  Germany,  and  those  only  to 
indicate  the  dominant  character  of  its  history.  There  the  at- 
tempts at  fusion,  unity,  and  general  political  organization,  were 
followed  with  little  ardor.  The  various  social  elements  remained 
much  more  distinct  and  independent  than  in  the  rest  of  Europe. 
If  a  proof  is  wanted,  one  may  be  found  in  modern  times.  Ger- 
many is  the  only  country  in  which  the  feudal  election  long  took 
part  in  the  creation  of  royalty.  I  do  not  speak  of  Poland,  nor 
the  Slavonian  nations,  which  entered  at  so  late  an  age  into  the 
system  of  European  civilization.  Germany  is  likewise  the  only 
country  of  Europe  where  ecclesiastical  sovereigns  remained; 
which  preserved  free  towns,  having  a  true  political  existence  and 
sovereignty.  It  is  clear  that  the  attempt  to  combine  in  a  single 
society  the  elements  of  primitive  European  society  has  there  had 
much  less  activity  and  effect  than  elsewhere. 

I  have  now  placed  before  you  the  great  essays  at  political  or- 
ganization in  Europe  down  to  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century 
and  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth.  You  have  seen  them  all  fail. 
I  have  endeavored  to  indicate,  in  passing,  the  causes  of  this  ill- 
success  ;  indeed,  truly  speaking,  they  are  reduceable  to  one. 
Society  was  not  sufficiently  advanced  for  unity  ;  everything  was 
as  yet  too  local,  too  special,  too  narrow,  too  various  in  existence, 
and  in  men^s  minds.  There  were  neither  general  interests  nor 
general  opinions  capable  of  controlling  particular  interests  and 
opinions.  The  most  elevated  and  vigorous  minds  had  no  idea 
of  administration,  nor  of  true  political  justice.  It  was  evidently 
necessary  that  a  more  active  and  vigorous  civilization  should 
first  mix,  assimilate,  and,  so  to  speak,  grind  together  all  these  in- 
coherent elements  ;  it  was  first  necessary  that  a  powerful  cen- 
tralization of  interest,  laws,  manners,  and  ideas  should  be 
brought  about  ;  in  a  word,  it  was  necessary  that  a  public  power 
and  public  opinion  should  arise.  We  have  arrived  at  the  epoch 
when  this  great  work  was  consummated.  Its  first  symptoms, 
the  state  of  mind  and  manners  during  the  course  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  the  tendency  toward  the  formation  of  a  central  govern- 
ment, and  a  public  opinion,  will  form  the  subject  of  our  next 
Jecture. 


XI 


ELEVENTH    LECTURE. 

WE  touch  the  threshold  of  modern  history,  properly  so 
called — the  threshold  of  that  society  which  is  our 
own,  of  which  the  institutions,  opinions  and  man- 
ners were,  forty  years  ago,  those  of  France,  are  still  those  of 
Europe,  and  still  exercise  so  powerful  an  influence  upon  us, 
despite  the  metamorphosis  brought  about  by  our  revolution. 
It  was  with  the  sixteenth  century,  as  I  have  already  said,  that 
modern  society  really  commenced.  Before  entering  upon  it, 
recall  to  your  minds,  I  pray  you,  the  roads  over  which  we  have 
passed.  We  have  discovered  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Roman 
Empire  all  the  essential  elements  of  the  Europe  of  the  present 
day ;  we  have  seen  them  distinguish  and  aggrandize  themselves, 
each  on  its  own  account,  and  independently.  We  recognized, 
during  the  first  epoch  of  history,  the  constant  tendency  of  these 
elements  to  separation,  isolation  and  a  local  and  special  exist- 
ence. Scarcely  was  this  end  obtained — scarcely  had  feudalism, 
the  boroughs  and  the  clergy  each  taken  its  distinct  form  and 
place,  than  we  see  them  tending  to  approach  each  other,  to 
reunite,  and  form  themselves  into  a  general  society,  into  a 
nation  and  a  government.  In  order  to  arrive  at  this  result,  the 
various  countries  of  Europe  addressed  themselves  to  all  the 
different  systems  which  co-existed  in  its  bosom ;  they  demanded 
the  principle  of  social  unity,  the  political  and  moral  tie,  from 
theocracy,  aristocracy,  democracy  and  royalty.  Hitherto  all 
these  attempts  had  failed ;  no  system  or  influence  had  known 
how  to  seize  upon  society,  and  by  its  empire  to  insure  it  a  truly 
public  destiny.  We  have  found  the  cause  of  this  ill-success  in 
the  absence  of  universal  interests  and  ideas.  We  have  seen 
that  all  was,  as  yet,  too  special,  individual  and  local ;  that  a  long 
and  powerful  labor  of  centralization  was  necessary  to  enable  so- 
ciety to  extend  and  cement  itself  at  the  same  time,  to  become 
at  once  great  and  regular — an  end  to  which  it  necessarily 
aspired.  This  was  the  state  in  which  we  left  Europe  at  the  end 
of  the  fourteenth  century. 

She  was  far  from  understanding  her  position,  such  as  I  have 
endeavored  to  place  it  before  you.  She  did  not  know  distinctly 
what  she  wanted  or  what  she  sought ;  still  she  applied  herself 
to  the  search  as  if  she  knew.    The  fourteenth  century  closed. 

x6a 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  163 

Europe  entered  naturally,  and,  as  it  were,  instinctively,  the 
path  which  led  to  centralization.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  the 
fifteenth  century  to  have  constantly  tended  to  this  result;  to 
have  labored  to  create  universal  interests  and  ideas,  to  make 
the  spirit  of  specialty  and  locality  disappear,  to  reunite  and 
elevate  existences  and  minds ;  in  fine,  to  create  what  had  hitherto 
never  existed  on  a  large  scale,  nations  and  governments.  The 
outbreak  of  this  fact  belongs  to  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries;  it  was  in  the  fifteenth  that  it  was  preparing.  It  is 
this  preparation  which  we  have  to  investigate  at  present — this 
siJent  and  concealed  work  of  centralization,  whether  in  social 
relations  or  ideas,  a  work  accomplished  by  the  natural  course 
of  events,  without  premeditation  or  design. 

Thus  man  advances  in  the  execution  of  a  plan  which  he  has 
not  himself  conceived,  or  which,  perhaps,  he  does  not  even  un- 
derstand. He  is  the  intelligent  and  free  artificer  of  a  work 
which  does  not  belong  to  him.  He  does  not  recognize  or  com- 
prehend it  until  at  a  later  period,  when  it  manifests  itself  out- 
wardly and  in  realities;  and  even  then  he  understands  it  but 
very  incompletely.  Yet  it  is  by  him,  it  is  by  the  development 
of  his  intellect  and  his  liberty  that  it  is  accomplished.  Con- 
ceive a  great  machine,  of  which  the  idea  resides  in  a  single 
mind,  and  of  which  the  diflferent  pieces  are  confided  to  different 
workmen,  who  are  scattered,  and  are  strangers  to  one  another ; 
none  of  them  knowing  the  work  as  a  whole,  or  the  definitive 
and  general  result  to  which  it  concurs,  yet  each  executing  with 
intelligence  and  liberty,  by  rational  and  voluntary  acts,  that  of 
which  he  has  the  charge.  So  is  the  plan  of  Providence  upon 
the  world  executed  by  the  hand  of  mankind ;  thus  do  the  two 
facts  which  manifest  themselves  in  the  history  of  civilization 
co-exist ;  on  the  one  hand,  its  fatality,  that  which  escapes  science 
and  the  human  will — and  on  the  other,  the  part  played  therein 
by  the  liberty  and  intellect  of  man,  that  which  he  infuses  of  his 
own  will  by  his  own  thought  and  inclination. 

In  order  properly  to  comprehend  the  fifteenth  century — to 
obtain  a  clear  and  exact  idea  of  this  prelude,  as  it  were,  of 
modern  society — we  will  distinguish  the  different  classes  of 
facts.  We  will  first  examine  the  political  facts,  the  changes 
which  have  tended  to  form  both  nations  and  governments. 
Thence  we  will  pass  to  moral  facts ;  we  will  observe  the 
changes  which  have  been  produced  in  ideas  and  manners,  and 
we  will  thence  deduce  what  general  opinions  were  in  prepara- 
tion. As  regards  political  facts,  in  order  to  proceed  simply 
and  quickly,  I  will  run  over  all  the  great  countries  of  Europe, 
and  show  you  what  the  fifteenth  century  made  of  them — in 
what  state  it  found  and  lift  them. 

I  shall  commence  with  France.     The  last  half  of  the  four- 


i64  GUIZOT 

teenth  century  and  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth  were,  as  you 
know,  the  times  of  great  national  wars — the  wars  against  the 
English.  It  was  the  epoch  of  the  struggle  for  the  independence 
of  France  and  the  French  name  against  a  foreign  dominion. 
A  glance  at  history  will  show  with  what  ardor,  despite  a  mul- 
titude of  dissensions  and  treasons,  all  classes  of  society  in 
France  concurred  in  the  struggle ;  what  patriotism  took  pos- 
session of  the  feudal  nobility,  the  burghers  and  even  peasants. 
If  there  were  nothing  else  to  show  the  popular  character  of  the 
event  than  the  history  of  Joan  of  Arc,  it  would  be  more  than 
sufficient  proof.  Joan  of  Arc  sprung  from  the  people.  It  was 
by  the  sentiments,  creed  and  passions  of  the  people  that  she 
was  inspired  and  sustained.  She  was  looked  upon  with  dis- 
trust, scorn  and  even  enmity  by  the  people  of  the  court  and  the 
chiefs  of  the  army ;  but  she  had  the  soldiers  and  the  people  ever 
on  her  side.  It  was  the  peasants  of  Lorraine  who  sent  her  to  the 
succor  of  the  burghers  of  Orleans.  No  event  has  more  strik- 
ingly shown  the  popular  character  of  this  war,  and  the  feeling 
with  which  the  whole  country  regarded  it. 

Thus  began  the  formation  of  French  nationality.  Up  to  the 
reign  of  the  Valois  it  was  the  feudal  character  which  dominated 
in  France;  the  French  nation,  the  French  mind,  French  pa- 
triotism, did  not  as  yet  exist.  With  the  Valois  commenced 
France,  properly  so  called.  It  was  in  the  course  of  their  wars, 
through  the  phases  of  their  destiny,  that  the  nobility,  the 
burghers  and  the  peasants,  were  for  the  first  time  united  by  a 
moral  tie,  by  the  tie  of  a  common  name,  a  common  honor  and  a 
common  desire  to  conquer  the  enemy.  But  expect  not  to  find 
there  as  yet  any  true  political  spirit,  not  any  great  purpose  of 
unity  in  the  government  and  institutions,  such  as  we  conceive 
them  at  the  present  day.  Unity  in  the  France  of  this  epoch 
resided  in  its  name,  its  national  honor,  and  in  the  existence  of  a 
national  royalty,  whatever  it  might  be,  provided  the  foreigner 
did  not  appear  therein.  It  is  in  this  way  that  the  struggle 
against  the  English  powerfully  contributed  to  the  formation  of 
the  French  nation,  to  impel  it  toward  unity.  At  the  same  time 
that  France  was  thus  morally  forming  herself,  and  the  national 
spirit  was  being  developed,  she  was  also  forming  herself  ma- 
terially, so  to  speak — that  is  to  say,  her  territory  was  being 
regulated,  extended,  strengthened.  This  was  the  period  of  the 
incorporation  of  the  greater  part  of  the  provinces  which  have 
become  France.  Under  Charles  VII,  after  the  expulsion  of 
the  English,  almost  all  the  provinces  which  they  had  occupied, 
Normandy,  Angoumois,  Touraine,  Poitou,  Saintonge,  etc., 
became  definitively  French.  Under  Louis  XI,  ten  provinces, 
three  of  which  were  afterward  lost  and  regained,  were  united 
to   France;   namely,   Roussillon   and    Cerdagne,    Burgundy, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  165 

Franche-Comte,  Picardy,  Artois,  Provence,  Maine,  Anjou  and 
Perche.  Under  Charles  VIII  and  Louis  XII,  the  successive 
marriages  of  Anne  with  these  two  kings  brought  us  Brittany. 
Thus,  at  the  same  epoch,  and  during  the  course  of  the  same 
events,  the  national  territory  and  mind  were  forming  together ; 
moral  and  material  France  conjointly  acquired  strength  and 
unity. 

Let  us  pass  from  the  nation  to  the  government ;  we  shall  see 
the  accomplishment  of  similar  facts,  shall  move  toward  the  same 
result.  Never  had  the  French  government  been  more  devoid  of 
unity,  connection  and  strength  than  under  the  reign  of  Charles 
VI  and  during  the  first  part  of  that  of  Charles  VII.  At  the  end 
of  this  later  reign  the  aspect  of  all  things  changed.  There  was 
evidently  a  strengthening,  extending  and  organizing  of  power ; 
all  the  great  means  of  government — taxes,  military  force,  law — 
were  created  upon  a  great  scale  and  with  some  uniformity. 
This  was  the  time  of  the  formation  of  standing  armies — free 
companies,  cavalry — and  free  archers,  infantry.  By  these  com- 
panies Charles  VII  re-established  some  order  in  those  provinces 
which  had  been  desolated  by  the  disorders  and  exactions  of 
the  soldiery,  even  after  war  had  ceased.  All  contemporary  his- 
torians speak  with  astonishment  of  the  marvellous  effects  of 
the  free  companies.  It  was  at  the  same  epoch  that  the  poll-tax, 
one  of  the  principal  revenues  of  the  kingdom,  became  perpet- 
ual ;  a  serious  blow  to  the  liberty  of  the  people,  but  which  pow- 
erfully contributed  to  the  regularity  and  strength  of  the  govern- 
ment. At  this  time,  too,  the  great  instrument  of  power,  the 
administration  of  justice,  was  extended  and  organized;  par- 
liaments multiplied.  There  were  five  new  parliaments  con- 
stituted within  a  very  short  period  of  time:  under  Louis  XI, 
the  parliament  of  Grenoble  (in  145 1),  of  Bordeaux  (in  1462), 
and  of  Dijon  (in  1477) ;  under  Louis  XII,  the  parHaments  of 
Rouen  (in  1499),  and  of  Aix  (in  1501).  The  parHament  of 
Paris,  also,  at  this  time  greatly  increased  in  importance  and 
firmness,  both  as  regards  the  administration  of  justice  and  as 
charged  with  the  policy  of  its  jurisdiction. 

Thus,  as  regards  military  force,  taxation  and  justice,  that  is, 
in  what  constitutes  its  very  essence,  government  in  France  in 
the  fifteenth  century  acquired  a  character  of  permanence  and 
regularity  hitherto  unknown;  public  power  definitively  took 
the  place  of  the  feudal  powers. 

At  the  same  time  another  and  far  different  change  was 
brought  about ;  a  change  which  was  less  visible  and  which  has 
less  impressed  itself  upon  historians,  but  which  was  perhaps 
of  still  more  importance — namely,  the  change  which  Louis  XI 
effected  in  the  manner  of  governing. 

Much  has  been  said  concerning  the  struggle  of  Louis  XI 


l66  GUIZOT 

against  the  high  nobles  of  the  kingdom,  of  their  abasement, 
and  of  his  favor  toward  the  burghers  and  the  lower  classes. 
There  is  truth  in  this,  although  much  of  it  is  exaggerated ;  it  is 
also  true  that  the  conduct  of  Louis  XI  toward  the  different 
classes  oftener  troubled  than  served  the  state.  But  he  did 
something  much  more  important.  Up  to  this  time  the  govern- 
ment had  proceeded  almost  entirely  by  force  and  by  material 
means.  Persuasion,  address,  the  managing  men's  minds  and 
leading  them  to  particular  views,  in  a  word,  policy — policy 
doubtless  of  falsehood  and  imposition,  but  also  of  management 
and  prudence,  had  hitherto  been  but  little  attended  to.  Louis 
XI  substituted  in  the  government  intellectual  in  place  of  ma- 
terial means,  artifice  instead  of  force,  the  Italian  policy  in  place 
of  the  feudal.  Look  at  the  two  men  whose  rivalry  occupies 
this  epoch  of  our  history,  Charles  le  Temeraire  and  Louis  XL 
Charles  was  the  representative  of  the  ancient  form  of  govern- 
ing ;  he  proceeded  by  violence  alone,  he  appealed  incessantly  to 
war,  he  was  incapable  of  exercising  patience,  or  of  addressing 
himself  to  the  minds  of  men  in  order  to  make  them  instruments 
to  his  success.  It  was  on  the  contrary  the  pleasure  of  Louis  XI 
to  avoid  the  use  of  force  and  take  possession  of  men  individually 
by  conversation  and  the  skilful  handling  of  interests  and  minds. 
He  changed  neither  the  institutions  nor  the  external  system, 
but  only  the  secret  proceedings,  the  tactics  of  power.  It  was 
left  for  modern  times  to  attempt  a  still  greater  revolution,  by 
laboring  to  introduce,  alike  into  political  means  as  into  politi- 
cal ends,  justice  ingtead  of  selfishness,  and  publicity  instead  of 
lying  fraud.  It  is  not  less  true,  however,  that  there  was  great 
indication  of  progress  in  renouncing  the  continual  employment 
of  force,  in  invoking  chiefly  intellectual  superiority,  in  govern- 
ing through  mind,  and  not  by  the  ruin  of  existences.  It  was 
this  that  Louis  XI  commenced,  by  force  of  his  high  intellect 
alone,  amid  all  his  crimes  and  faults,  despite  his  bad  nature. 

From  France  I  pass  to  Spain ;  there  I  find  events  of  the  same 
nature ;  it  was  thus  that  the  national  unity  of  Spain  was  formed 
in  the  fifteenth  century ;  at  that  time,  by  the  conquest  of  the 
kingdom  of  Grenada,  the  lengthened  struggle  between  the 
Christians  and  the  Arabs  was  put  an  end  to.  Then,  also,  the 
country  was  centralized ;  by  the  marriage  of  Ferdinand  the 
Catholic  and  Isabella,  the  two  principal  kingdoms  of  Castile 
and  Aragon  were  united  under  one  power.  As  in  France,  royalty 
was  here  extended  and  strengthened ;  sterner  institutions, 
and  which  bore  a  more  mournful  name,  served  as  its  fulcrum ; 
instead  of  parliament,  the  inquisition  arose.  It  contained  in 
germ  what  it  was  to  be,  but  it  was  not  then  the  same  as  in  its 
maturer  age.  It  was  at  first  rather  political  than  religious,  and 
intended  rather  to  maintain  order  than  to  defend  the  faith.     The 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  167 

analogy  extends  beyond  institutions,  it  is  found  even  in  the 
persons.  With  less  artifice,  mental  movement  and  restless  and 
busy  activity,  the  character  and  government  of  Ferdinand  the 
Catholic  resembles  that  of  Louis  XL  I  hold  as  unimportant 
all  arbitrary  comparisons  and  fanciful  parallels;  but  here  the 
analogy  is  profound  and  visible  alike  in  general  facts  and  in 
details. 

We  find  the  same  in  Germany.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  in  1438,  that  the  house  of  Austria  returned  to 
the  empire,  and  with  it  the  imperial  power  acquired  a  perma- 
nence which  it  had  never  possessed  before ;  election  afterward 
did  little  more  than  consecrate  the  hereditary  successor.  At  the 
end  of  the  fifteenth  century  Maximilian  I  definitively  founded  the 
preponderance  of  his  house  and  the  regular  exercise  of  central 
authority;  Charles  VII  first  created  in  France  a  standing  army 
for  the  maintenance  of  order ;  Maximilian  was  also  the  first,  in 
his  hereditary  states,  to  attain  the  same  end  by  the  same  means. 
Louis  XI  established  the  post-office  in  France ;  and  Maximilian 
introduced  it  into  Germany.  Everywhere  the  same  progressions 
of  civilization  were  similarly  cultivated  for  the  good  of  central 
power. 

The  history  of  England  in  the  fifteenth  century  consists  of 
two  great  events ;  without,  the  struggle  against  the  French,  and 
within,  that  of  the  two  roses,  the  foreign  and  the  civil  war. 
These  two  so  dissimilar  wars  led  to  the  same  result.  The  strug- 
gle against  the  French  was  sustained  by  the  English  people 
with  an  ardor  which  profited  only  royalty.  This  nation,  already 
more  skilful  and  firm  than  any  other  in  keeping  back  its  forces 
and  supplies,  at  this  epoch  abandoned  them  to  its  kings  without 
foresight  or  limit.  It  was  under  the  reign  of  Henry  V  that  a 
considerable  tax,  the  customs,  was  granted  to  the  king  from  the 
commencement  of  his  reign  until  his  death.  When  the  foreign 
war  was  ended,  or  almost  so,  the  civil  war,  which  had  been  as- 
sociated with  it,  continued  alone;  the  houses  of  York  at  first 
and  Lancaster  disputed  for  the  throne.  When  they  came  to  the 
end  of  their  bloody  contests,  the  high  English  aristocracy  found 
itself  ruined,  decimated  and  incapable  of  preserving  the  power 
which  it  had  hitherto  exercised.  The  coalition  of  the  great 
barons  could  no  longer  influence  the  throne.  The  Tudors  as- 
cended it,  and  with  Henry  VII,  in  1485,  commenced  the  epoch 
of  political  centralization  and  the  triumph  of  royalty. 

Royalty  was  not  established  in  Italy,  at  least  not  under  that 
name;  but  this  matters  little  as  regards  the  result.  It  was  in 
the  fifteenth  century  that  the  republics  fell ;  even  where  the 
name  remained,  the  power  was  concentred  in  the  hands  of  one 
or  more  families ;  republican  life  was  extinct.  In  the  north  of 
Italy,  almost  all  the  Lombard  republics  were  absorbed  in  the 


1 68  GUIZOT 

duchy  of  Milan.  In  1434  Florence  fell  under  the  domination 
of  Medicis ;  in  1464  Genoa  became  subject  to  the  Milanese.  The 
greater  portion  of  the  republics,  great  and  small,  gave  place  to 
sovereign  houses.  The  pretensions  of  foreign  sovereigns  were 
soon  put  forth  upon  the  north  and  south  of  Italy,  upon  the 
Milanese  on  one  side,  and  the  kingdom  of  Naples  on  the  other. 

Upon  whatever  country  of  Europe  we  turn  our  eyes,  and 
whatever  portion  of  its  history  we  may  consider,  whether  it  has 
reference  to  the  nations  themselves,  or  to  their  governments,  to 
the  institutions  of  the  countries,  we  shall  everywhere  see  the 
ancient  elements  and  forms  of  society  on  the  point  of  disappear- 
ing. The  traditional  liberties  perish  and  new  and  more  con- 
centrated and  regular  powers  arise.  There  is  something  pro- 
foundly sad  in  the  fall  of  the  old  European  liberties;  at  the 
time  it  inspired  the  bitterest  feelings.  In  France,  Germany, 
and  above  all,  Italy,  the  patriots  of  the  fifteenth  century  con- 
tested with  ardor,  and  deplored  with  despair,  this  revolution, 
which,  on  all  sides,  was  bringing  about  what  might  justly  be 
called  despotism.  One  cannot  help  admiring  their  courage 
and  commiserating  their  sorrow ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  must 
be  understood  that  this  revolution  was  not  only  inevitable,  but 
beneficial  also.  The  primitive  system  of  Europe,  the  old  feudal 
and  communal  liberties,  had  failed  in  the  organization  of  so- 
ciety. What  constitutes  social  life  is  security  and  progress. 
Any  system  which  does  not  procure  present  order  and  future 
progress,  is  vicious,  and  soon  abandoned.  Such  was  the  fate  of 
the  ancient  political  forms,  the  old  European  liberties,  in  the 
fifteenth  century.  They  could  give  to  society  neither  se- 
curity nor  progress.  These  were  sought  elsewhere  from  other 
principles  and  other  means.  This  is  the  meaning  of  all  the  facts 
which  I  have  just  placed  before  you. 

From  the  same  epoch  dates  another  fact  which  has  held  an 
important  place  in  the  political  history  of  Europe.  It  was  in  the 
fifteenth  century  that  the  relations  of  governments  between 
themselves  began  to  be  frequent,  regular,  permanent.  It  was 
then  for  the  first  time  that  those  great  alliances  were  formed, 
whether  for  peace  or  war,  which  at  a  later  period  produced  the 
system  of  equilibrium.  Diplomacy  in  Europe  dates  from  the 
fifteenth  century.  Toward  the  end  of  this  century  you  see  the 
principal  powers  of  Continental  Europe,  the  popes,  the  dukes 
of  Milan,  the  Venetians,  the  emperors  of  Germany  and  the 
kings  of  Spain  and  of  France,  form  connections,  negotiate, 
unite,  balance  each  other.  Thus,  at  the  time  that  Charles  VII 
formed  his  expedition  to  conquer  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  a 
great  league  was  formed  against  him,  between  Spain,  the  pope, 
and  the  Venetians.  The  league  of  Cambrai  was  formed  some 
years  later  (in  1508),  against  the  Venetians.    The  holy  league, 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  169 

directed  against  Louis  XII,  succeeded  in  151 1  to  the  league  of 
Cambrai.  All  these  alliances  arose  from  Italian  policy,  from 
the  desire  of  various  sovereigns  to  possess  Italy,  and  from  the 
fear  that  some  one  of  them,  by  seizing  it  exclusively,  should  ac- 
quire an  overpowering  preponderance.  This  new  order  of  facts 
was  highly  favorable  to  the  development  of  royalty.  On  the 
one  hand,  from  the  nature  of  the  external  relations  of  states, 
they  can  only  be  conducted  by  a  single  person  or  a  small  num- 
ber of  persons,  and  exact  a  certain  secrecy;  on  the  other,  the 
people  had  so  little  foresight,  that  the  consequences  of  an  al- 
liance of  this  kind  escaped  them ;  it  was  not  for  them  of  any  in- 
ternal or  direct  interest ;  they  cared  little  about  it,  and  left  such 
events  to  the  discretion  of  the  central  power.  Thus  diplomacy 
at  its  birth  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  kings,  and  the  idea  that  it 
belonged  exclusively  to  them,  that  the  country,  although  free, 
and  having  the  right  of  voting  its  taxes  and  interfering  in  its 
affairs,  was  not  called  upon  to  mix  itself  in  external  matters — 
this  idea,  I  say,  was  established  in  almost  all  European  minds 
as  an  accepted  principle,  a  maxim  of  common  law.  Open  Eng- 
lish history  at  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  you  will 
see  what  power  this  idea  exercised,  and  what  obstacle  it  opposed 
to  EngHsh  Hberties  under  the  reigns  of  EHzabeth,  James  I  and 
Charles  I.  It  was  always  under  the  name  of  this  principle  that 
peace  and  war,  commercial  relations,  and  all  external  affairs, 
appertained  to  the  royal  prerogative ;  and  it  was  by  this  that  ab- 
solute power  defended  itself  against  the  rights  of  the  country. 
Nations  have  been  excessively  timid  in  contesting  this  part  of 
prerogative;  and  this  timidity  has  cost  them  the  more  dear, 
since,  from  the  epoch  upon  which  we  are  now  entering,  that  is 
to  say,  the  sixteenth  century,  the  history  of  Europe  is  essen- 
tially diplomatic.  External  relations,  during  nearly  three  cen- 
turies, are  the  important  fact  of  history.  Within  nations  be- 
came regulated,  the  internal  government,  upon  the  continent 
at  least,  led  to  no  more  violent  agitations,  nor  absorbed  public 
activity.  It  is  external  relations,  wars,  negotiations  and  al- 
liances, which  attract  attention,  and  fill  the  pages  of  history,  so 
that  the  greater  portion  of  the  destiny  of  nations  has  been  aban- 
doned to  the  royal  prerogative  and  to  central  power. 

Indeed,  it  was  hardly  possible  it  should  be  otherwise.  A  very 
great  progress  in  civilization,  and  a  great  development  of  intel- 
lect and  political  skill  are  necessary,  before  the  public  can  inter- 
fere with  any  success  in  affairs  of  this  kind.  From  the 
sixteenth  to  the  eighteenth  century,  the  people  were  very  far 
from  being  thus  qualified.  See  what  took  place  under  James  I 
in  England  at  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth  century: 
his  son-in-law,  the  elector-palatine,  elected  king  of  Bohemia, 
lost  his  crown ;  he  was  even  robbed  of  his  hereditary  states,  the 


I70  GUIZOT 

palatinate.  The  whole  of  Protestantism  was  interested  in  his 
cause,  and  for  that  reason  England  testified  a  lively  interest  to- 
ward him.  There  was  a  powerful  ebullition  of  public  opinion  to 
force  King  James  to  take  the  part  of  his  son-in-law,  and  regain 
for  him  the  palatinate.  Parliament  furiously  demanded  war, 
promising  all  the  means  for  carrying  it  on.  James  was  unwill- 
ing ;  he  eluded  the  matter,  made  some  attempts  at  negotiation, 
sent  some  troops  to  Germany,  and  then  came  to  tell  Parliament 
that  £900,000  steding  were  necessary  to  maintain  the  contest 
with  any  chance  of  success.  It  is  not  said,  nor  indeed  does  it 
appear  to  have  been  the  case,  that  his  calculation  was  exagger- 
ated. But  the  Parliament  recoiled  with  surprise  and  terror  at 
the  prospect  of  such  a  charge,  and  it  unwillingly  voted  £70,000 
sterling  to  re-establish  a  prince,  and  reconquer  a  country  three 
hundred  leagues  from  England.  Such  was  the  political  igno- 
rance and  incapacity  of  the  public  in  matters  of  this  kind ;  it 
acted  without  knowledge  of  facts,  and  without  troubling  itself 
with  any  responsibility.  It  was  not  then  in  a  condition  to  inter- 
fere in  a  regular  or  efficacious  manner.  This  is  the  principal 
cause  of  the  external  relations  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  cen- 
tral power ;  that  alone  was  in  a  condition  to  direct  them,  I  do  not 
say  for  the  public  interest,  for  it  was  far  from  being  always  con- 
sulted, but  with  any  continuity  or  good  sense. 

You  see,  under  whatever  point  of  view  the  political  history  of 
Europe  at  this  epoch  is  presented  to  us,  whether  we  turn  our 
eyes  upon  the  internal  state  of  nations,  or  upon  the  relations  of 
nations  with  each  other,  whether  we  consider  the  administration 
of  war,  justice,  or  taxation,  we  everywhere  find  the  same  char- 
acter ;  everywhere  we  see  the  same  tendency  to  the  centraliza- 
tion, unity,  formation  and  preponderance  of  general  interests 
and  public  powers.  This  was  the  secret  work  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  a  work  which  did  not  as  yet  lead  to  any  very  prominent 
result,  nor  any  revolution,  properly  so  called,  in  society,  but 
which  prepared  the  way  for  all  of  them.  I  shall  immediately 
place  before  you  facts  of  another  nature,  moral  facts,  facts  which 
relate  to  the  development  of  the  human  mind  and  universal 
ideas.  There  also  we  shall  acknowledge  the  same  phenomenon, 
and  arrive  at  the  same  result. 

I  shall  commence  with  a  class  of  facts  which  has  often  occu- 
pied us,  and  which,  under  the  most  various  forms,  has  always 
held  an  important  place  in  the  history  of  Europe,  namely,  facts 
relative  to  the  church.  Down  to  the  fifteenth  century  we  have 
seen  in  Europe  no  universal  and  powerful  ideas  acting  truly  upon 
the  masses,  except  those  of  a  religious  nature.  We  have  seen  the 
church  alone  invested  with  the  power  of  regulating,  promulgat- 
ing and  prescribing  them.  Often,  it  is  true,  attempts  at  inde- 
pendence, even  separation,  were  formed,  and  the  church  had 


CIVILIZATION  IN   EUROPE  171 

much  to  do  to  overcome  them.  But  hitherto  she  had  conquered 
them;  creeds  repudiated  by  the  church  had  taken  no  general 
and  permanent  possession  of  the  minds  of  the  people ;  the  Albi- 
genses  themselves  were  crushed.  Dissension  and  contest  were 
of  incessant  occurrence  in  the  heart  of  the  church,  but  without 
any  decisive  or  eminent  result.  At  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth 
century  an  entirely  different  fact  announced  itself ;  new  ideas,  a 
public  and  avowed  want  of  change  and  reform,  agitated  the 
church  herself.  The  end  of  the  fourteenth  and  commencement 
of  the  fifteenth  century  were  marked  by  the  great  schism  of  the 
west,  the  result  of  the  translation  of  the  holy  see  to  Avignon, 
and  of  the  creation  of  two  popes,  one  at  Avignon,  the  other  at 
Rome.  The  struggle  between  these  two  papacies  is  what  is 
called  the  great  schism  of  the  west.  It  commenced  in  1378. 
In  1409,  the  council  of  Pisa  wishing  to  end  it,  deposed  both 
popes,  and  nominated  a  third,  Alexander  V.  So  far  from  being 
appeased,  the  schism  became  warmer ;  there  were  three  popes 
instead  of  two.  The  disorder  and  abuses  continued  to  increase. 
In  1414  the  council  of  Constance  assembled  at  the  summons  of 
the  Emperor  Sigismond.  It  proposed  to  itself  a  work  very  dif- 
ferent from  nominating  a  new  pope ;  it  undertook  the  reform  of 
the  church.  It  first  proclaimed  the  indissolubility  of  the  gen- 
eral council,  and  its  superiority  over  the  papal  power ;  it  under- 
took to  make  these  principles  prevalent  in  the  church,  and  to 
reform  the  abuses  which  had  crept  into  it,  above  all  the  exac- 
tions by  which  the  court  of  Rome  had  procured  supplies.  For 
the  attainment  of  this  end,  the  council  nominated  what  we  will 
call  a  commission  of  inquiry,  that  is  to  say,  a  college  of  reform, 
composed  of  deputies  of  the  council  taken  from  different  na- 
tions; it  was  the  duty  of  this  college  to  seek  what  were  the 
abuses  which  disgraced  the  church,  and  how  they  might  best  be 
remedied,  and  to  make  a  report  to  the  council,  which  would  con- 
sult upon  the  means  of  execution.  But  while  the  council  was 
occupied  in  this  work,  the  question  was  mooted  as  to  whether 
they  could  proceed  in  the  reformation  of  abuses,  without  the 
visible  participation  of  the  chief  of  the  church,  without  the 
sanction  of  the  pope.  The  negative  was  passed  by  the  influence 
of  the  Romanist  party,  supported  by  honest,  but  timid  men; 
the  council  elected  a  new  pope,  Martin  V,  in  1417.  The  pope 
was  desired  to  present  on  his  part  a  plan  of  reform  in  the 
church.  This  plan  was  not  approved,  and  the  council  sepa- 
rated. In  143 1  a  new  council  assembled  at  Basle  with  the  same 
view.  It  resumed  and  continued  the  work  of  reform  of  the 
council  of  Constance,  and  met  with  no  better  success.  Schism 
broke  out  in  the  interior  of  the  assembly,  the  same  as  in  Chris- 
tianity. The  pope  transferred  the  council  of  Basle  to  Ferrara, 
and  afterward  to  Florence.     Part  of  the  prelates  refused  to  obey 


172  GUIZOT 

the  pope,  and  remained  at  Basle ;  and  as  formerly  there  had  been 
two  popes,  so  there  were  now  two  councils.  That  of  Basle  con- 
tinued its  projects  of  reform,  and  nominated  its  pope,  Felix  V. 
After  a  certain  time  it  transported  itself  to  Lausanne;  and  in 
1449  dissolved  itself,  without  having  effected  anything. 

Thus  papacy  carried  the  day,  and  remained  in  possession  of 
the  field  of  battle  and  the  government  of  the  church.  The 
council  could  not  accomplish  what  it  had  undertaken ;  but  it 
effected  things  which  it  had  not  undertaken,  and  which  sur- 
vived it.  At  the  time  that  the  council  of  Basle  failed  in  its  at- 
tempts at  reform,  sovereigns  seized  upon  the  ideas  which  it  pro- 
claimed, and  the  institution  which  it  suggested.  In  France, 
upon  the  foundation  of  the  decrees  of  the  council  of  Basle, 
Charles  V  formed  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  which  he  issued  at 
Bourges  in  1438 ;  it  enunciated  the  election  of  bishops,  the  sup- 
pression of  first  fruits,  and  the  reform  of  the  principal  abuses 
which  had  been  introduced  into  the  church.  The  Pragmatic 
Sanction  was  declared  in  France  the  law  of  the  state.  In  Ger- 
many, the  diet  of  Mayence  adopted  it  in  1439,  and  likewise  made 
it  a  law  of  the  German  Empire.  What  the  spiritual  power  had 
unsuccessfully  attempted,  the  temporal  power  seemed  destined 
to  accomplish. 

New  reverses  sprung  up  for  the  projects  of  reform.  As  the 
council  had  failed,  so  did  the  Pragmatic  Sanction.  In  Ger- 
many it  perished  very  abruptly.  The  diet  abandoned  it  in  1448, 
in  consequence  of  a  negotiation  with  Nicholas  V.  In  15 16, 
Francis  I  likewise  abandoned  it,  and  in  its  place  substituted 
his  Concordat  with  Leo  X.  The  princes'  reform  did  not  suc- 
ceed any  better  than  that  of  the  clergy.  But  it  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  it  entirely  perished.  As  the  council  effected  things 
which  survived  it,  so  also  the  Pragmatic  Sanction  had  conse- 
quences which  it  left  behind,  and  which  played  an  important 
part  in  modern  history.  The  principles  of  the  council  of  Basle 
were  powerful  and  fertile.  Superior  men,  and  men  of  ener- 
getic character,  have  adopted  and  supported  them.  John  of 
Paris,  D'Ailly,  Gerson,  and  many  distinguished  men  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  devoted  themselves  to  their  defense.  In  vain 
was  the  council  dissolved ;  in  vain  was  the  Pragmatic  Sanction 
abandoned ;  its  general  doctrines  upon  the  government  of  the 
church,  and  upon  the  reforms  necessary  to  be  carried  out,  had 
taken  root  in  France ;  they  were  perpetuated ;  they  passed  into 
the  parliaments;  and  became  a  powerful  opinion.  They  gave 
rise  first  to  the  Jansenists  and  afterward  to  the  Gallicans.  All 
this  series  of  maxims  and  efforts  tending  to  reform  the  church, 
which  commenced  with  the  council  of  Constance  and  terminated 
with  the  four  propositions  of  Bossuet,  emanated  from  the  same 
source  and  were  directed  toward  the  same  end ;  it  was  the  same 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  173 

fact  successively  transformed.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  attempt 
at  legal  reform  in  the  fifteenth  century  failed ;  not  the  less  has 
it  taken  its  place  in  the  course  of  civilization — not  the  less  has 
it  indirectly  exercised  an  enormous  influence. 

The  councils  were  right  in  pursuing  a  legal  reform,  for  that 
alone  could  prevent  a  revolution.  Almost  at  the  moment  when 
the  council  of  Pisa  undertook  to  bring  the  great  schism  of  the 
west  to  a  termination,  and  the  council  of  Constance  to  reform 
the  church,  the  first  essays  at  popular  religious  reform  violently 
burst  forth  in  Bohemia.  The  predictions  and  progress  of  John 
Huss  date  from  1404,  at  which  period  he  began  to  teach  at 
Prague.  Here,  then,  are  two  reforms  marching  side  by  side; 
the  one  in  the  very  heart  of  the  church,  attempted  by  the  eccle- 
siastical aristocracy  itself — a  wise,  but  embarrassed  and  timid 
reform ;  the  other,  outside  and  against  the  church,  violent  and 
passionate.  A  contest  arose  between  these  two  powers  and 
designs.  The  council  summoned  John  Huss  and  Jerome  of 
Prague  to  Constance,  and  condemned  them  as  heretics  and 
revolutionists.  These  events  are  perfectly  intelligible  to  us  at 
the  present  day.  We  can  very  well  understand  this  simulta- 
neousness  of  separate  reforms — enterprises  undertaken,  one  by 
the  governments,  the  other  by  the  people,  opposed  to  one 
another,  and  yet  emanating  from  the  same  cause  and  tending  to 
the  same  end,  and,  in  fine,  although  at  war  with  each  other,  still 
concurring  to  the  same  result.  This  is  what  occurred  in  the 
fifteenth  century. 

The  popular  reform  of  John  Huss  was  for  the  instant  stifled  ; 
the  war  of  the  Hussites  broke  forth  three  or  four  years  after 
the  death  of  their  master.  It  lasted  long,  and  was  violent,  but 
the  empire  finally  triumphed.  But  as  the  reform  of  the  councils 
had  failed,  as  the  end  which  they  pursued  had  not  been  attained, 
the  popular  reform  ceased  not  to  ferment.  It  watched  the  first 
opportunity,  and  found  it  at  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  If  the  reform  undertaken  by  the  councils  had  been 
well  carried  out,  the  reformation  might  have  been  prevented. 
But  one  or  the  other  must  have  succeeded;  their  coincidence 
shows  a  necessity. 

This,  then,  is  the  state  in  which  Europe  was  left  by  the 
fifteenth  century  with  regard  to  religious  matters — an  aristo- 
cratical  reform  unsuccessfully  attempted,  and  a  popular  reform 
commenced,  stifled,  and  always  ready  to  reappear.  But  it  was 
not  to  the  sphere  of  religious  creeds  that  the  fermentation  of  the 
human  mind  at  this  epoch  was  confined.  It  was  in  the  course 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  as  you  all  know,  that  Greek  and 
Roman  antiquity  were,  so  to  speak,  restored  in  Europe.  You 
know  with  what  eagerness  Dante,  Petrarch,  Boccaccio,  and  all 
their  contemporaries  sought  for  the  Greek  and  Latin  manu- 


174  GUIZOT 

scripts,  and  published  and  promulgated  them,  and  what  noise 
and  transports  the  least  discovery  of  this  kind  excited. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement,  a  school  was  commenced  in 
Europe  which  has  played  a  very  much  more  important  part  in 
the  development  of  the  human  mind  than  has  generally  been  at- 
tributed to  it :  this  was  the  classical  school.  Let  me  warn  you 
from  attaching  the  same  sense  to  this  word  which  we  give  to  it 
in  the  present  day ;  it  was  then  a  very  different  thing  from  a  lit- 
erary system  or  contest.  The  classical  school  of  that  period 
was  inflamed  with  admiration,  not  only  for  the  writings  of  the 
ancients,  for  Virgil  and  Homer,  but  for  the  whole  of  ancient 
society,  for  its  institutions,  opinions  and  philosophy,  as  well  as 
for  its  literature.  It  must  be  confessed  that  antiquity,  under 
the  heads  of  politics,  philosophy  and  literature,  was  far  superior 
to  the  Europe  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  It  can- 
not, therefore,  be  wondered  at  that  it  should  exercise  so  great  a 
sway,  or  that  for  the  most  part,  elevated,  active,  refined  and 
fastidious  minds  should  take  a  disgust  at  the  coarse  manners, 
confused  ideas,  and  barbarous  forms  of  their  own  times,  and 
that  they  should  devote  themselves  with  enthusiasm  to  the 
study,  and  almost  to  the  worship  of  a  society  at  once  more  reg- 
ular and  developed.  Thus  was  formed  that  school  of  free- 
thinkers which  appeared  at  the  commencement  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  in  which  prelates,  jurisconsults  and  scholars  met 
together. 

Amid  this  excitement  happened  the  taking  of  Constantinople 
by  the  Turks,  the  fall  of  the  Eastern  Empire,  and  the  flight  into 
Italy  of  the  Greek  fugitives.  They  brought  with  them  a  higher 
knowledge  of  antiquity,  numerous  manuscripts,  and  a  thou- 
sand new  means  of  studying  ancient  civilization.  The  re- 
doubled admiration  and  ardor  with  which  the  classical  school 
was  animated  may  easily  be  imagined.  This  was  the  time  of 
the  most  brilliant  development  of  the  high  clergy,  particularly 
in  Italy,  not  as  regards  political  power,  properly  speaking,  but 
in  point  of  luxury  and  wealth  ;  they  abandoned  themselves  with 
pride  to  all  the  pleasures  of  a  voluptuous,  indolent,  elegant  and 
licentious  civilization — to  the  taste  for  letters  and  arts,  and  for 
social  and  material  enjoyments.  Look  at  the  kind  of  life  led  by 
the  men  who  played  a  great  political  and  literary  part  at  this 
epoch — by  Cardinal  Bembo,  for  instance ;  you  will  be  surprised 
at  the  mixture  of  sybaritism  and  intellectual  development,  of 
effeminate  manners  and  hardihood  of  mind.  One  would  think, 
indeed,  when  we  glance  over  this  epoch,  when  we  are  present 
at  the  spectacle  of  its  ideas  and  the  state  of  its  moral  relations, 
one  would  think  we  were  living  in  France  in  the  midst  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  There  is  the  same  taste  for  intellectual  ex- 
citement, for  new  ideas,  for  an  easy,  agreeable  life ;  the  same 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  175 

effemlnateness  and  licentiousness ;  the  same  deficiency  in  politi- 
cal energy  and  moral  faith,  with  a  singular  sincerity  and  activity 
of  mind.  The  literati  of  the  fifteenth  century  were,  with  regard 
to  the  prelates  of  the  high  church,  in  the  same  relation  as  men  of 
letters  and  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century  with  the  high 
aristocracy ;  they  all  had  the  same  opinions  and  the  same  man- 
ners, lived  harmoniously  together  and  did  not  trouble  them- 
selves about  the  commotions  that  were  in  preparation  around 
them.  The  prelates  of  the  fifteenth  century,  commencing  with 
Cardinal  Bembo,  most  certainly  no  more  foresaw  Luther  and 
Calvin  than  the  people  of  the  court  foresaw  the  French  revo- 
lution.    The  position,  however,  was  analogous. 

Three  great  facts,  then,  present  themselves  at  this  epoch  in 
the  moral  order :  first,  an  ecclesiastical  reform  attempted  by  the 
church  herself ;  secondly,  a  popular  religious  reform  ;  and  finally 
an  intellectual  reform,  which  gave  rise  to  a  school  of  free-think- 
ers. And  all  these  metamorphoses  were  in  preparation  amid 
the  greatest  political  change  which  had  taken  place  in  Europe, 
amid  the  work  of  centralization  of  people  and  governments. 

This  was  not  all.  This  also  was  the  time  of  the  greatest  ex- 
ternal activity  of  mankind ;  it  was  a  period  of  voyages,  enter- 
prises, discoveries  and  inventions  of  all  kinds.  This  was  the 
time  of  the  great  expeditions  of  the  Portuguese  along  the  coast 
of  Africa,  of  the  discovery  of  the  passage  of  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  by  Vasco  de  Gama,  of  the  discovery  of  America  by  Chris- 
topher Columbus,  and  of  the  wonderful  extension  of  European 
commerce.  A  thousand  new  inventions  came  forth ;  others  al- 
ready known,  but  only  within  a  narrow  sphere,  became  popular 
and  of  common  use.  Gunpowder  changed  the  system  of  war, 
the  compass  changed  the  system  of  navigation.  The  art  of  oil- 
painting  developed  itself  and  covered  Europe  with  masterpieces 
of  art:  engraving  on  copper,  invented  in  1460,  multiplied  and 
promulgated  them.  Linen  paper  became  common ;  and  lastly, 
from  1436  to  1452,  printing  was  invented ;  printing,  the  theme 
of  so  much  declamation  and  so  many  commonplaces,  but  the 
merit  and  effects  of  which  no  commonplace  nor  any  declama- 
tion can  ever  exhaust. 

You  see  what  was  the  greatness  and  activity  of  this  century — 
a  greatness  still  only  partially  apparent,  an  activity,  the  results 
of  which  have  not  yet  been  fully  developed.  Violent  reforms 
seem  unsuccessful,  governments  strengthened  and  nations  paci- 
fied. It  might  be  thought  that  society  was  preparing  to  enjoy 
a  better  order  of  things,  amid  a  more  rapid  progress.  But  the 
powerful  revolutions  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  impending : 
the  fifteenth  had  been  preparing  them.  They  will  be  the  sub- 
ject of  my  next  lecture. 


TWELFTH   LECTURE. 

WE  have  often  deplored  the  disorder  and  chaos  of  Euro- 
pean society ;  we  have  complained  of  the  difficulty  of 
understanding  and  describing  a  society  thus  scat- 
tered, incoherent  and  broken  up;  we  have  longed  for,  and 
patiently  invoked,  the  epoch  of  general  interests,  order  and  so- 
cial unity.  We  have  now  arrived  at  it ;  we  are  entering  upon 
the  epoch  when  all  is  general  facts  and  general  ideas,  the  epoch 
of  order  and  unity.  We  shall  here  encounter  a  difficulty  of 
another  kind.  Hitherto  we  have  had  much  trouble  in  connect- 
ing facts  with  one  another,  in  making  them  co-ordinate,  in  per- 
ceiving whatever  they  may  possess  in  common,  and  distinguish- 
ing some  completeness.  Everything  reverses  itself  in  modern 
Europe;  all  the  elements  and  incidents  of  social  life  modify 
themselves  and  act  and  react  on  one  another;  the  relations  of 
men  among  themselves  become  much  more  numerous  and  com- 
plicated. It  is  the  same  in  their  relations  with  the  government 
of  the  state,  the  same  in  the  relations  of  the  states  among  them- 
selves, the  same  in  ideas  and  in  the  works  of  the  human  mind. 
In  the  times  which  we  have  gone  through  a  large  number  of 
facts  passed  away,  isolated,  foreign  to  one  another,  and  without 
reciprocal  influence.  We  shall  now  no  longer  find  this  isola- 
tion ;  all  things  touch,  commingle  and  modify  as  they  meet.  Is 
there  anything  more  difficult  than  to  seize  the  true  unity  amid 
such  diversity,  to  determine  the  direction  of  a  movement  so  ex- 
tended and  complex,  to  recapitulate  this  prodigious  number  of 
various  elements  so  clearly  connected  with  one  another ;  in  fine, 
to  ascertain  the  general  dominant  fact,  which  sums  up  a  long 
series  of  facts,  which  characterizes  an  epoch,  and  is  the  faithful 
expression  of  its  influence  and  its  share  in  the  history  of  civili- 
zation? You  will  measure  with  a  glance  this  difficulty  in  the 
great  event  which  now  occupies  our  attention.  We  encoun- 
tered, in  the  twelfth  century,  an  event  which  was  religious  in  its 
origin  if  not  in  its  nature ;  I  mean  the  crusades.  Despite  the 
greatness  of  this  event,  despite  its  long  duration  and  the  va- 
riety of  incidents  to  which  it  led,  we  found  it  difficult  enough  to 
distinguish  its  general  character,  and  to  determine  with  any 
precision  its  unity  and  its  influence.  We  have  now  to  consider 
the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  century,  usually  called 

176 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  177 

the  Reformation.  Permit  me  to  say,  in  passing,  that  I  shall  use 
the  word  reformation  as  a  simple  and  understood  term,  as 
synonymous  with  religious  revolution,  and  without  implying  any 
judgment  of  it.  You  see  at  the  very  commencement  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  recognize  the  true  character  of  this  great  crisis,  to  say 
in  a  general  manner  what  it  was  and  what  it  effected. 

It  is  between  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth  and  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  that  we  must  look  for  the 
reformation ;  for  that  period  comprises,  so  to  speak,  the  life  of 
the  event,  its  origin  and  end.  All  historical  events,  have,  so  to 
speak,  a  limited  career;  their  consequences  are  prolonged  to 
infinity ;  they  have  a  hold  upon  all  the  past  and  all  the  future ;  but 
it  is  not  the  less  true  that  they  have  a  particular  and  limited  exist- 
ence, that  they  are  born,  that  they  increase,  that  they  fill  with 
their  development  a  certain  duration  of  time,  and  then  decrease 
and  retire  from  the  scene  in  order  to  make  room  for  some  new 
event. 

The  precise  date  assigned  to  the  origin  of  the  reformation  is 
of  little  importance;  we  may  take  the  year  1520,  when  Luther 
pubHcly  burnt,  at  Wittemberg,  the  bull  of  Leo  X,  which  con- 
demned him,  and  thus  formally  separated  himself  from  the 
Roman  church.  It  was  between  this  epoch  and  the  middle  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  the  year  1648,  the  date  of  the  treaty  of 
Westphalia,  that  the  life  of  the  reformation  was  comprised. 
Here  is  the  proof  of  it.  The  first  and  greatest  effect  of  the  re- 
ligious revolution  was  to  create  in  Europe  two  classes  of  states 
— the  Catholic  states  and  the  Protestant  states,  to  place  them  op- 
posite each  other,  and  open  the  contest  between  them.  With 
many  vicissitudes,  this  struggle  lasted  from  the  commencement 
of  the  sixteenth  century  down  to  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth. 
It  was  by  the  treaty  of  Westphalia,  in  1648,  that  the  Catholic 
and  Protestant  states  at  last  acknowledged  one  another ;  agreed 
to,  then,  a  mutual  existence,  and  promised  to  live  in  society  and 
peace,  independently  of  the  diversity  of  religion.  Dating  from 
1648,  diversity  in  religion  ceased  to  be  the  dominant  principle 
of  the  classification  of  states,  of  their  external  policy,  their  re- 
lations, and  alliances.  Up  to  this  epoch,  in  spite  of  great  varia- 
tions, Europe  was  essentially  divided  into  a  Catholic  and  a 
Protestant  league.  After  the  treaty  of  Westphalia,  this  dis- 
tinction vanished ;  states  were  either  allied  or  divided  upon  other 
considerations  than  religious  creeds.  At  that  point,  then,  the 
preponderance,  that  is  to  say,  the  career,  of  the  reformation 
stopped,  although  its  consequences  did  not  then  cease  to  de- 
velop themselves.  Let  us  now  glance  hastily  over  this  career ; 
and  without  doing  more  than  naming  the  events  and  men,  let 
us  indicate  what  it  contains.  You  will  see  by  this  mere  indica- 
tion, by  this  dry  and  incomplete  nomenclature,  what  must  be 
12 


178  GUIZOT 

the  difficulty  of  recapitulating  a  series  of  facts  so  varied  and  so 
complex — of  recapitulating  them,  I  say,  in  one  general  fact ;  of 
determining  what  was  the  true  character  of  the  religious  revolu- 
tion of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of  assigning  its  part  in  the  his- 
tory of  our  civilization.  At  the  moment  when  the  reformation 
broke  forth,  it  fell,  so  to  speak,  into  the  midst  of  a  great  political 
event,  the  struggle  between  Francis  I  and  Charles  V,  between 
France  and  Spain;  a  contest,  first  for  the  possession  of  Italy, 
afterward  for  that  of  the  empire  of  Germany,  and,  lastly,  for  the 
preponderance  in  Europe.  It  was  then  the  house  of  Austria 
elevated  itself,  and  became  dominant  in  Europe.  It  was  then, 
also,  that  England,  under  Henry  VIII,  interfered  in  continental 
politics  with  more  regularity,  permanence,  and  to  a  greater  ex- 
tent that  she  had  hitherto  done. 

Let  us  follow  the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century  in  France. 
It  was  filled  by  the  great  religious  wars  of  the  Protestants  and 
Catholics,  the  means  and  the  occasion  of  a  new  attempt  of  the 
great  lords  to  regain  the  power  they  had  lost.  This  is  the  politi- 
cal purport  of  our  religious  wars,  of  the  League,  of  the  struggle 
of  the  Guises  against  the  Valois,  a  struggle  which  ended  by  the 
accession  of  Henry  IV. 

In  Spain,  during  the  reign  of  Philip  II,  the  revolution  of  the 
United  Provinces  broke  out.  The  inquisition  and  civil  and  re- 
ligious liberty  waged  war  under  the  names  of  the  Duke  of  Alva 
and  the  Prince  of  Orange.  While  liberty  triumphed  in  Holland 
by  force  of  perseverance  and  good  sense,  she  perished  in  the  in- 
terior of  Spain,  where  absolute  power  prevailed,  both  lay  and 
ecclesiastical. 

In  England,  during  this  period,  Mary  and  Elizabeth  reigned ; 
there  was  the  contest  of  Elizabeth,  the  head  of  Protestantism, 
against  Philip  II.  This  period  is  also  marked  by  the  accession 
of  James  Stuart  to  the  throne  of  England,  and  by  the  com- 
mencement of  the  great  quarrels  between  royalty  and  the  Eng- 
lish people. 

About  the  same  time  new  powers  were  created  in  the  north. 
Sweden  was  reinstated  by  Gustavus  Vasa  in  1523.  Prussia 
was  created  by  the  secularizing  of  the  Teutonic  Order.  The 
powers  of  the  north  then  took  in  European  politics  a  place 
which  they  had  never  hitherto  occupied,  the  importance  of 
which  was  soon  to  be  shown  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War. 

I  return  to  France.  The  reign  of  Louis  XIII;  Cardinal 
Richelieu  changed  the  internal  administration  of  France,  en- 
tered into  relations  with  Germany,  and  lent  aid  to  the  Protestant 
party.  In  Germany,  during  the  last  part  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, the  contest  took  place  against  the  Turks ;  and  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  seventeenth  century  the  Thirty  Years'  War, 
the  greatest  event  of  modern  Eastern  Europe.    At  this  time 


i 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  179 

flourished  Gustavus  Adolphtis,  Wallenstein,  Tilly,  the  Duke  of 
Brunswick  and  the  Duke  of  Weimar,  the  greatest  names  that 
Germany  has  yet  to  pronounce. 

At  the  same  epoch,  in  France,  Louis  XIV  ascended  the 
throne;  the  Fronde  commenced.  In  England,  the  revolution 
which  dethroned  Charles  I  broke  out. 

I  only  take  the  leading  events  of  history,  events  whose  name 
every  one  knows;  you  see  their  number,  variety  and  impor- 
tance. If  we  seek  events  of  another  nature,  events  which  are 
less  apparent,  and  which  are  less  summed  up  in  names,  we  shall 
find  this  epoch  equally  full.  This  is  the  period  of  the  greatest 
changes  in  the  political  institutions  of  almost  all  nations,  the 
time  when  pure  monarchy  prevailed  in  the  majority  of  great 
states,  while  in  Holland  the  most  powerful  republic  in  Europe 
was  created,  and  in  England  constitutional  monarchy  tri- 
umphed definitively,  or  nearly  so.  In  the  church,  this  was  the 
period  when  the  ancient  monastic  orders  lost  almost  all  political 
power,  and  were  replaced  by  a  new  order  of  another  character, 
and  the  importance  of  which,  perhaps  erroneously,  is  held  as  far 
superior  to  theirs,  the  Jesuits.  At  this  epoch  the  council  of 
Trent  effaced  what  might  still  remain  of  the  influence  of  the 
councils  of  Constance  and  Basle,  and  secured  the  definitive  tri- 
umph of  the  court  of  Rome  in  the  ecclesiastical  order.  Let  us 
leave  the  church  and  cast  an  eye  upon  philosophy,  upon  the  free 
career  of  the  human  mind ;  two  men  present  themselves.  Bacon 
and  Descartes,  the  authors  of  the  greatest  philosophical  revolu- 
tion which  the  modern  world  has  undergone,  the  chiefs  of  the 
two  schools  which  disputed  its  empire.  This  also  was  the 
period  of  the  brilliancy  of  ItaHan  literature,  and  of  the  com- 
mencement of  French  and  of  English  literature.  And  lastly,  it 
was  the  time  of  the  foundation  of  great  colonies  and  the  most 
active  developments  of  the  commercial  system.  Thus,  under 
whatever  point  of  view  you  consider  this  epoch,  its  political, 
ecclesiastical,  philosophical  and  literary  events  are  in  great  num- 
ber, and  more  varied  and  important  than  in  any  century  preced- 
ing it.  The  activity  of  the  human  mind  manifested  itself  in 
every  way :  in  the  relations  of  men  between  themselves,  in  their 
relations  with  power,  in  the  relations  of  states,  and  in  purely  in- 
tellectual labors ;  in  a  word,  it  was  a  time  for  great  men  and  for 
great  things.  And  in  the  midst  of  this  period,  the  religious  rev- 
olution which  occupies  our  attention  is  the  greatest  event  of  all ; 
it  is  the  dominant  fact  of  this  epoch,  the  fact  which  gives  to  it 
its  name  and  determines  its  character.  Among  so  many  power- 
ful causes  which  have  played  so  important  a  part,  the  reforma- 
tion is  the  most  powerful,  that  in  which  all  the  others  ended, 
which  modified  them  all,  or  was  by  them  modified.  So  that 
what  we  have  to  do  at  present  is  to  truly  characterize  and  ac- 


i8o  GUIZOT 

curately  sum  up  the  event  which  in  a  period  of  the  greatest 
events,  dominated  over  all,  the  cause  which  effected  more  than 
all  others  in  a  time  of  the  most  influential  causes. 

You  will  easily  comprehend  the  difficulty  of  reducing  facts 
so  various,  so  important,  and  so  closely  united  to  a  true  his- 
torical unity.  It  is,  however,  necessary  to  do  this.  When 
events  are  once  consummated,  when  they  have  become  history, 
what  are  more  important,  and  what  man  seeks  above  all  things, 
are  general  facts,  the  connection  of  causes  and  effects.  These, 
so  to  speak,  are  the  immortal  part  of  history,  that  to  which  all 
generations  must  refer  in  order  to  understand  the  past  and  to 
understand  themselves.  The  necessity  for  generalization  and 
rational  result  is  the  most  powerful  and  the  most  glorious  of  all 
intellectual  wants ;  but  we  should  be  careful  not  to  be  contented 
with  incomplete  and  precipitate  generalizations.  Nothing  can 
be  more  tempting  than  to  give  way  to  the  pleasure  of  assigning 
immediately  and  at  the  first  view,  the  general  character  and  per- 
manent results  of  an  epoch  or  event.  The  human  mind  is  like 
the  will,  always  urgent  for  action,  impatient  of  obstacles,  and 
eager  for  liberty  and  conclusions ;  it  willingly  forgets  facts 
which  impede  and  cramp  it ;  but  in  forgetting,  it  does  not  de- 
stroy them  ;  they  subsist  to  condemn  it  some  day  and  convict  it 
of  error.  There  is  but  one  means  for  the  human  mind  to  escape 
this  danger ;  that  is,  courageously  and  patiently  to  exhaust  the 
study  of  facts  before  generalizing  and  concluding.  Facts  are 
to  the  mind  what  rules  of  morality  are  to  the  will.  It  is  bound 
to  know  them  and  to  bear  their  weight ;  and  it  is  only  when  it  has 
fulfilled  this  duty,  when  it  has  viewed  and  measured  their  whole 
extent,  it  is  then  only  that  it  is  permitted  to  unfold  its  wings  and 
take  flight  to  the  higher  region  where  it  will  see  all  things  in 
their  totality  and  their  results.  If  it  attempt  to  mount  too 
quickly,  and  without  having  gained  a  knowledge  of  all  the 
territory  which  it  will  have  to  contemplate  from  thence,  the 
chance  of  error  and  failure  is  very  great.  It  is  the  same  as  in  an 
arithmetical  calculation,  where  one  error  leads  to  others,  ad 
infinitum.  So  in  history,  if  in  the  first  labor  we  do  not  attend  to 
all  the  facts,  if  we  give  ourselves  up  to  the  taste  for  precipitate 
generalization,  it  is  impossible  to  say  to  what  mistakes  we  may 
be  led. 

I  am  warning  you  in  a  measure  against  myself.  I  have  only 
made,  and,  indeed,  could  only  make,  attempts  at  generalization, 
general  recapitulations  of  facts  which  we  have  not  studied 
closely  and  at  large.  But  having  arrived  at  an  epoch  when  this 
undertaking  is  much  more  difficult  than  at  any  other,  and  when 
the  chances  of  error  are  much  greater,  I  have  thought  it  a  duty 
thus  to  warn  you.  That  done,  I  shall  now  proceed  and  attempt 
as  to  the  reformation  what  I  have  done  as  to  other  events;  I 


CIVILIZATION  IN   EUROPE  i8l 

shall  endeavor  to  distinguish  its  dominant  fact,  to  describe  its 
general  character,  to  say,  in  a  word,  what  is  the  place  and  the 
share  of  this  great  event  in  European  civilization. 

You  will  call  to  mind  how  we  left  Europe  at  the  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  We  have  seen  in  its  course,  two  great  at- 
tempts at  religious  revolution  and  reform:  an  attempt  at  legal 
reform  by  the  councils,  and  an  attempt  at  revolutionary  reform 
in  Bohemia  by  the  Hussites ;  we  have  seen  them  stifled  and  fail- 
ing, one  after  the  other ;  but  still  we  have  seen  that  it  was  im- 
possible the  event  should  be  prevented,  that  it  must  be  repro- 
duced under  one  form  or  another ;  that  what  the  fifteenth  century 
had  attempted,  the  sixteenth  would  inevitably  accomplish.  I 
shall  not  recount  in  any  way  the  details  of  the  religious  revolu- 
tion of  the  sixteenth  century :  I  take  it  for  granted  that  they  are 
almost  universally  known.  I  attend  only  to  its  general  influence 
upon  the  destinies  of  the  human  race. 

When  the  causes  which  determined  this  great  event  have 
been  investigated,  the  adversaries  of  the  reformation  have  im- 
puted it  to  accidents,  to  misfortunes  in  the  course  of  civilization ; 
for  example,  to  the  sale  of  indulgences  having  been  confided  to 
the  Dominicans,  which  made  theAugustines  jealous;  Luther  was 
an  Augustine,  and,  therefore,  was  the  determining  cause  of  the 
reformation.  Others  have  attributed  it  to  the  ambition  of  sov- 
ereigns, to  their  rivalry  with  the  ecclesiastical  power,  and  to  the 
cupidity  of  the  lay  nobles,  who  wished  to  seize  upon  the  prop- 
erty of  the  church.  They  have  thus  sought  to  explain  the  re- 
ligious revolution  merely  from  the  ill  side  of  men  and  human 
affairs,  by  suggestions  of  private  interests  and  personal  pas- 
sions. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  partisans  and  friends  of  the  reforma- 
tion have  endeavored  to  explain  it  merely  by  the  necessity  for 
reform  in  the  existing  abuses  of  the  church ;  they  have  repre- 
sented it  as  a  redressing  of  religious  grievances,  as  an  attempt 
conceived  and  executed  with  the  sole  design  of  reconstituting 
a  pure  and  primitive  church.  Neither  of  these  explanations 
seems  to  me  sound.  The  second  has  more  truth  in  it  than  the 
first ;  at  least  it  is  more  noble,  more  in  unison  with  the  extent 
and  importance  of  the  event ;  still  I  do  not  think  it  correct.  In 
my  opinion,  the  reformation  was  neither  an  accident,  the  result 
of  some  great  chance,  of  personal  interest,  nor  a  mere  aim  at 
religious  amelioration,  the  fruit  of  an  Utopia  of  humanity  and 
truth.  It  had  a  far  more  powerful  cause  than  all  this,  and 
which  dominates  over  all  particular  causes.  It  was  a  great 
movement  of  the  liberty  of  the  human  mind,  a  new  necessity 
for  freely  thinking  and  judging  on  its  own  account,  and  with  its 
own  powers,  of  facts  and  ideas  which  hitherto  Europe  had  re- 
ceived, or  was  held  bound  to  receive,  from  the  hands  of  authority* 


i8a  GUIZOT 

It  was  a  grand  attempt  at  the  enfranchisement  of  the  human 
mind ;  and  to  call  things  by  their  proper  names,  an  insurrection 
of  the  human  mind  against  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual  order. 
Such  I  believe  to  be  the  true,  general  and  dominant  character  of 
the  reformation. 

When  we  consider  the  state  at  this  epoch,  of  the  human 
mind  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  that  of  the  church  which 
governed  the  human  mind,  we  are  struck  by  this  twofold  fact : 
on  the  part  of  the  human  mind  there  was  much  more  activity, 
and  much  more  thirst  for  development  and  empire  than  it  had 
ever  felt.  This  new  activity  was  the  result  of  various  causes, 
but  which  had  been  accumulating  for  ages.  For  example,  there 
had  been  ages  when  heresies  took  birth,  occupied  some  space  of 
time,  fell,  and  were  replaced  by  others ;  and  ages  when  philo- 
sophical opinions  had  run  the  same  course  as  the  heresies.  The 
labor  of  the  human  mind,  whether  in  the  religious  or  in  the 
philosophical  sphere,  had  accumulated  from  the  eleventh  to  the 
sixteenth  century:  and  at  last  the  moment  had  arrived  when 
it  was  necessary  that  the  result  should  appear.  Moreover,  all 
the  means  of  instruction  created  or  encouraged  in  the  very 
bosom  of  the  church  bore  their  fruits.  Schools  had  been  in- 
stituted :  from  these  schools  had  issued  men  with  some  knowl- 
edge, and  their  number  was  daily  augmented.  These  men 
wished  at  last  to  think  for  themselves,  and  on  their  own  ac- 
count, for  they  felt  stronger  than  they  had  ever  yet  done. 
Finally  arrived  that  renewal  and  regeneration  of  the  human 
mind  by  the  restoration  of  antiquity,  the  progress  and  effects  of 
which  I  have  described  to  you. 

The  union  of  all  these  causes  at  the  commencement  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  impressed  upon  the  mind  a  highly  energetic 
movement,  an  imperative  necessity  for  progress. 

The  situation  of  the  government  of  the  human  mind,  the 
spiritual  power,  was  quite  different;  it,  on  the  contrary,  had 
fallen  into  a  state  of  indolence  and  immobility.  The  political 
credit  of  the  church,  of  the  court  of  Rome,  had  much  dimin- 
ished ;  European  society  no  longer  belonged  to  it ;  it  had  passed 
into  the  dominion  of  lay  governments.  Still  the  spiritual 
power  preserved  all  its  pretensions,  all  its  splendor  and  external 
importance.  It  happened  with  it  as  it  has  more  than  once  done 
with  old  governments.  The  greater  part  of  the  complaints 
urged  against  it  were  no  longer  applied.  It  is  not  true  that  the 
court  of  Rome  in  the  sixteenth  century  was  very  tyrannical ;  nor 
is  it  true  that  its  abuses,  properly  so  called,  were  more  numer- 
ous or  more  crying  than  they  had  been  in  other  times.  On  the 
contrary,  perhaps  ecclesiastical  government  had  never  been 
more  easy  and  tolerant,  more  disposed  to  let  all  things  take 
their  course,  provided  they  did  not  put  itself  in  question,  pro- 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  183 

vided  it  was  so  far  acknowledged  as  to  be  left  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  rights  which  it  had  hitherto  possessed,  that  it  was  secured 
the  same  existence  and  paid  the  same  tributes.  It  would  will- 
ingly have  left  the  human  mind  in  tranquillity  if  the  human  mind 
would  have  done  the  same  toward  it.  But  it  is  precisely  when 
governments  are  least  held  in  consideration,  when  they  are  the 
least  powerful,  and  do  the  least  evil  that  they  are  attacked,  be- 
cause then  they  can  be  attacked,  and  formerly  they  could  not  be. 

It  is  evident,  then,  by  the  mere  examination  of  the  state  of  the 
human  mind,  and  that  of  its  government  at  this  epoch,  that  the 
character  of  the  reformation  must  have  been  a  new  impulse  of 
liberty,  a  great  insurrection  of  the  human  intellect.  Do  not 
doubt  but  this  was  the  dominant  cause,  the  cause  which  rose 
above  all  the  others — a  cause  superior  to  all  interests,  whether 
of  nations  or  sovereigns — superior  also  to  any  mere  necessity 
for  reform,  or  the  necessity  for  redressing  of  grievances  which 
were  then  complained  of. 

I  will  suppose  that  after  the  first  years  of  the  reformation, 
when  it  had  displayed  all  its  pretensions,  set  forth  all  its  griev- 
ances, the  spiritual  power  had  suddenly  fallen  in  with  its  views, 
and  had  said,  "Well,  so  be  it.  I  will  reform  everything ;  I  will 
return  to  a  more  legal  and  religious  order ;  I  will  suppress  all 
vexations,  arbitrariness  and  tributes ;  even  in  doctrinal  matters, 
I  will  modify,  explain,  and  return  to  the  primitive  meaning.  But 
when  all  grievances  are  thus  redressed,  I  will  preserve  my  posi- 
tion— I  will  be  as  formerly,  the  government  of  the  human  mind, 
with  the  same  power  and  the  same  rights."  Do  you  suppose 
that  on  these  conditions  the  religious  revolution  would  have 
been  content,  and  would  have  stopped  its  progress  ?  I  do  not 
think  it.  I  firmly  believe  that  it  would  have  continued  its 
career,  and  that  after  having  demanded  reformation,  it  would 
have  demanded  liberty.  The  crisis  of  the  sixteenth  century 
was  not  merely  a  reforming  one,  it  was  essentially  revolutionary. 
It  is  impossible  to  take  from  it  this  character,  its  merits  and  its 
vices ;  it  had  all  the  effects  of  this  character. 

Let  us  cast  a  glance  upon  the  destinies  of  the  reformation; 
let  us  see,  especially  and  before  all,  what  it  effected  in  the  differ- 
ent countries  where  it  was  developed.  Observe  that  it  was  de- 
veloped in  very  various  situations,  and  amid  very  unequal 
chances.  If  we  find  that  in  spite  of  the  diversity  of  situations, 
and  the  inequality  of  chances,  it  everywhere  pursued  a 
certain  end,  obtained  a  certain  result,  and  preserved  a  certain 
character,  it  will  be  evident  that  this  character,  which  sur- 
mounted all  diversities  of  situation,  and  all  unequalities  of 
chances,  must  have  been  the  fundamental  character  of  the 
event — that  this  result  must  have  been  its  essential  aim. 

Well,  wherever  the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 


1 84  GUIZOT 

tury  prevailed,  if  it  did  not  effect  the  entire  enfranchisement  of 
the  human  mind,  it  procured  for  it  new  and  very  great  increase 
of  Hberty.  It  doubtless  often  left  the  mind  to  all  the  chances  of 
the  liberty  or  servitude  of  political  institution ;  but  it  abolished 
or  disarmed  the  spiritual  power,  the  systematic  and  formidable 
government  of  thought.  This  is  the  result  which  the  reforma- 
tion attained  amid  the  most  various  combinations.  In  Ger- 
many there  was  no  political  liberty;  nor  did  the  reformation 
introduce  it.  It  fortified  rather  than  weakened  the  power  of 
princes.  It  was  more  against  the  free  institutions  of  the  middle 
ages  than  favorable  to  their  development.  Nevertheless,  it  re- 
suscitated and  maintained  in  Germany  a  liberty  of  thought 
greater,  perhaps,  than  anywhere  else. 

In  Denmark,  a  country  where  absolute  power  dominated, 
where  it  penetrated  into  the  municipal  institutions  as  well  as 
into  the  general  institutions  of  the  state,  there  also,  by  the  in- 
fluence of  the  reformation,  thought  was  enfranchised  and  freely 
exercised  in  all  directions. 

In  Holland,  in  the  midst  of  a  republic,  and  in  England,  under 
constitutional  monarchy,  and  despite  a  religious  tyranny  of 
long  duration,  the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind  was  like- 
wise accomplished.  And,  lastly,  in  France,  in  a  situation  which 
seemed  the  least  favorable  to  the  effects  of  the  religious  revolu- 
tion, in  a  country  where  it  had  been  conquered,  there  even  it 
was  a  principle  of  intellectual  independence  and  liberty.  Down 
to  1685,  that  is  to  say,  until  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes, 
the  reformation  had  a  legal  existence  in  France.  During  this 
lengthened  period  it  wrote  and  discussed,  and  provoked  its  ad- 
versaries to  write  and  discuss  with  it.  This  single  fact,  this 
war  of  pamphlets  and  conferences  between  the  old  and  new 
opinions,  spread  in  France  a  liberty  far  more  real  and  active 
than  is  commonly  believed —  a  liberty  which  tended  to  the  profit 
of  science,  the  honor  of  the  French  clergy,  as  well  as  to  the 
profit  of  thought  in  general.  Take  a  glance  at  the  conferences 
of  Bossuet  with  Claude  upon  all  the  religious  polemics  of  that 
period,  and  ask  yourselves  whether  Louis  XIV  would  have 
allowed  a  similar  degree  of  liberty  upon  any  other  subject.  It 
was  between  the  reformation  and  the  opposite  party  that  there 
existed  the  greatest  degree  of  liberty  in  France  during  the  seven- 
teenth century.  Religious  thought  was  then  far  more  bold,  and 
treated  questions  with  more  freedom  than  the  political  spirit  of 
Fenelon  himself  in  "Telemachus."  This  state  of  things  did  not 
cease  until  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes.  Now,  from 
1685  to  the  outburst  of  the  human  mind  in  the  eighteenth  cent- 
ury, there  were  not  forty  years;  and  the  influence  of  the  re- 
ligious revolution  in  favor  of  intellectual  liberty  had  scarcely 
ceased  when  that  of  the  philosophical  revolution  commenced. 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  185 

You  see  that  wherever  the  reformation  penetrated,  wherever 
it  played  an  important  part,  victorious  or  vanquished,  it  had 
as  a  general,  dominant  and  constant  result,  an  immense  prog- 
ress in  the  activity  and  liberty  of  thought,  and  toward  the  eman- 
cipation of  the  human  mind. 

And  not  only  had  the  reformation  this  result,  but  with  this 
it  was  satisfied ;  wherever  it  obtained  that,  it  sought  for  nothing 
further,  so  much  was  it  the  foundation  of  the  event,  its  prim- 
itive and  fundamental  character.  Thus,  in  Germany  it  ac- 
cepted, I  will  not  say  political  servitude,  but,  at  least,  the  ab- 
sence of  liberty.  In  England  it  consented  to  the  constitutional 
hierarchy  of  the  clergy  and  the  presence  of  a  church  with  quite 
as  many  abuses  as  there  had  ever  been  in  the  Romish  church, 
and  far  more  servile. 

Why  should  the  reformation,  so  passionate  and  stubborn  in 
some  respects,  show  itself  in  this  so  easy  and  pliant?  It  was 
because  it  had  obtained  the  general  fact  to  which  it  tended,  the 
abolition  of  spiritual  power,  the  enfranchisement  of  the  human 
mind.  I  repeat,  that  wherever  it  attained  this  end,  it  accom- 
modated itself  to  all  systems  and  all  situations. 

Let  us  now  take  the  counter-proof  of  this  inquiry ;  let  us  see 
what  happened  in  countries  into  which  the  religious  revolution 
had  not  penetrated,  where  it  had  been  stifled  in  the  beginning, 
where  it  had  never  been  developed.  History  shows  that  there 
the  human  mind  has  not  been  enfranchised ;  two  great  countries, 
Spain  and  Italy,  will  prove  this.  While  in  those  European 
countries  where  the  reformation  had  taken  an  important  place, 
the  human  mind,  during  the  three  last  centuries,  has  gained  an 
activity  and  a  freedom  before  unknown ;  in  those  where  it  has 
not  penetrated,  it  has  fallen,  during  the  same  period,  into  ef- 
feminacy and  indolence;  so  that  the  proof  and  counter-proof 
have  been  made,  so  to  speak,  simultaneously,  and  given  the 
same  result. 

Impulse  of  thought  and  the  abolition  of  absolute  power  in 
the  spiritual  order,  are  therefore  the  essential  character  of  the 
reformation,  the  most  general  result  of  its  influence  and  the 
dominant  fact  of  its  destiny. 

I  designedly  say,  the  fact.  The  emancipation  of  the  human 
mind  was  in  reality,  in  the  course  of  the  reformation,  a  fact 
rather  than  a  principle,  a  result  rather  than  an  intention.  In 
this  respect  I  think  the  reformation  executed  more  than  it  had 
undertaken;  more  perhaps  than  it  had  even  desired.  Con- 
trary to  most  other  revolutions,  which  have  remained  far  be- 
hind their  wishes,  of  which  the  event  is  far  inferior  to  the 
thought,  the  consequences  of  the  revolution  surpassed  its  views ; 
it  is  greater  as  an  event  than  as  a  plan ;  what  it  effected  it  did 
not  fully  foresee,  nor  fully  avow. 


1 86  GUIZOT 

What  were  the  reproaches  with  which  its  adversaries  con- 
stantly upbraid  the  reformation  ?  Which  of  its  results  did  they 
in  a  manner  cast  in  its  teeth  to  reduce  it  to  silence  ? 

Two  principal  ones.  First:  The  multiplicity  of  sects,  the 
prodigious  license  allowed  to  mind,  the  dissolutions  of  the  re- 
ligious society  as  a  whole.  Second :  Tyranny  and  persecution. 
"  You  provoke  Hcense,"  said  they  to  the  reformers ;  "you  even 
produce  it ;  and  when  you  have  created  it,  you  wish  to  restrain 
and  repress  it.  And  how  do  you  repress  it?  By  the  most 
severe  and  violent  means.  You  yourselves  persecute  heresy, 
and  by  virtue  of  an  illegitimate  authority." 

Survey  and  sum  up  all  the  great  attacks  directed  against  the 
reformation,  discarding  the  purely  dogmatical  questions ;  these 
are  the  two  fundamental  reproaches  to  which  they  reduce  them- 
selves. 

The  reformed  party  was  greatly  embarrassed  by  them.  When 
they  imputed  it  to  the  multiplicity  of  sects,  instead  of  avowing 
them,  and  maintaining  the  legitimacy  of  their  development,  it 
anathematized  them,  deplored  their  existence  and  denied  them. 

Taxed  with  persecution,  it  defended  itself  with  the  same  em- 
barrassment ;  it  alleged  the  necessity ;  it  had,  it  said,  the  right 
to  repress  and  punish  error,  because  it  was  in  the  possession  of 
truth ;  its  creed  and  institutions  alone  were  legitimate ;  and  if 
the  Roman  church  had  not  the  right  to  punish  the  reformers, 
it  was  because  she  was  in  the  wrong  as  against  them. 

And  when  the  reproach  of  persecution  was  addressed  to  the 
dominant  party  in  the  reformation,  not  by  its  enemies,  but  by 
its  own  offspring,  when  the  sects  which  it  anathematized  said 
to  it,  "  We  only  do  what  you  have  done ;  we  only  separate  our- 
selves as  you  separated  yourselves,"  it  was  still  more  embar- 
rassed for  an  answer,  and  often  only  replied  by  redoubled  rigor. 

In  fact,  while  laboring  for  the  destruction  of  absolute  power 
in  the  spiritual  order,  the  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  century 
was  ignorant  of  the  true  principles  of  intellectual  liberty,  it  en- 
franchised the  human  mind,  and  yet  pretended  to  govern  it  by 
the  law ;  in  practice  it  was  giving  prevalence  to  free  inquiry,  and 
in  theory  it  was  only  substituting  a  legitimate  in  place  of  an 
illegitimate  power.  It  did  not  elevate  itself  to  the  first  cause, 
nor  descend  to  the  last  consequences  of  its  work.  Thus  it  fell 
into  a  double  fault;  on  the  one  hand,  it  neither  knew  nor  re- 
spected all  the  rights  of  human  thought ;  at  the  moment  that 
it  clamored  for  them  on  its  own  account,  it  violated  them  with 
regard  to  others ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  knew  not  how  to  meas- 
ure the  rights  of  authority  in  the  intellectual  order;  I  do  not 
speak  of  coercive  authority,  which  in  such  matters  should  possess 
none,  but  of  purely  moral  authority,  acting  upon  the  mind  alone, 
and  simply  by  way  of  influence.     Something  is  wanting  in  most 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  187 

of  the  reformed  countries,  to  the  good  organization  of  the  intel- 
lectual society,  and  to  the  regular  action  of  ancient  and  general 
opinions.  They  could  not  reconcile  the  rights  and  wants  of 
tradition  with  those  of  liberty,  and  the  cause  doubtless  lay  in 
this  fact,  that  the  reformation  did  not  fully  comprehend  and 
receive  its  own  principles  and  effects. 

Hence,  also,  it  had  a  certain  air  of  inconsistency  and  narrow- 
mindedness,  which  often  gave  a  hold  and  advantage  over  it  to 
its  adversaries.  These  last  knew  perfectly  well  what  they  did, 
and  what  they  wished  to  do ;  they  went  back  to  the  principles 
of  their  conduct,  and  avowed  all  the  consequences  of  it.  There 
was  never  a  government  more  consistent  and  systematic  than 
that  of  the  Roman  church.  In  practice  the  court  of  Rome  has 
greatly  yielded  and  given  way,  much  more  so  than  the  refor- 
mation; in  theory,  it  has  much  more  completely  adopted  its 
peculiar  system,  and  kept  to  a  much  more  coherent  conduct. 
This  is  a  great  power,  this  full  knowledge  of  what  one  does 
and  wishes,  this  complete  and  rational  adoption  of  a  doctrine 
and  a  design.  The  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth  century 
presented  in  its  course  a  striking  example  of  it.  Every  one 
knows  that  the  chief  power  instituted  to  struggle  against  it 
was  the  order  of  Jesuits.  Throw  a  glance  upon  their  history ; 
they  have  everywhere  failed.  Wherever  they  have  interfered 
to  any  extent,  they  have  carried  misfortune  into  the  cause  with 
which  they  mixed.  In  England  they  ruined  kings;  in  Spain 
the  people.  The  general  course  of  events,  the  development 
of  modern  civilization,  the  liberty  of  the  human  mind,  all  these 
powers  against  which  the  Jesuits  were  called  upon  to  contest, 
fought  and  conquered  them.  And  not  only  have  they  failed, 
but  call  to  mind  the  means  they  have  been  obliged  to  employ. 
No  splendor  or  grandeur ;  they  brought  about  no  great  events, 
nor  put  in  motion  powerful  masses  of  men;  they  have  acted 
only  by  underhanded,  obscure  and  subordinate  means ;  by  ways 
which  are  nothing  suited  to  strike  the  imagination,  to  conciliate 
that  public  interest  which  attaches  to  great  things,  whatever 
may  be  their  principle  or  end.  The  party  against  which  it 
struggled,  on  the  contrary,  not  only  conquered,  but  conquered 
with  splendor;  it  did  great  things,  and  by  great  means;  it 
aroused  the  people,  it  gave  to  Europe  great  men,  and  changed, 
in  the  face  of  day,  the  fashion  and  form  of  states.  In  a  word, 
everything  was  against  the  Jesuits,  both  fortune  and  appear- 
ances; neither  good  sense,  which  desires  success,  nor  imag- 
ination, which  requires  splendor,  were  satisfied  by  their  career. 
And  yet  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than  that  they  have  had 
grandeur ;  that  a  great  idea  is  attached  to  their  name,  their  in- 
fluence, and  their  history.     How  so  ? 

It  is  because  they  knew  what  they  were  doing,  and  what  they 


i88  GUIZOT 

desired  to  do ;  because  they  had  a  full  and  clear  acquaintance 
with  the  principles  upon  which  they  acted,  and  the  aim  to  which 
they  tended ;  that  is  to  say,  they  had  greatness  of  thought  and 
greatness  of  will,  and  this  saved  them  from  the  ridicule  which 
attaches  itself  to  constant  reverses  and  contemptible  means. 
Where,  on  the  contrary,  the  event  was  greater  than  the  thought, 
where  the  actors  appeared  to  want  a  knowledge  of  the  first  prin- 
ciples and  last  results  of  their  action,  there  remained  something 
incomplete,  inconsistent  and  narrow,  which  placed  the  conquer- 
ors themselves  in  a  sort  of  rational  and  philosophical  inferiority, 
of  which  the  influence  has  been  sometimes  felt  in  events.  This 
was,  I  conceive,  in  the  struggle  of  the  old  against  the  new 
spiritual  order,  the  weak  side  of  the  reformation,  the  circum- 
stance which  often  embarrassed  it,  and  hindered  it  from  de- 
fending itself  as  it  ought  to  have  done. 

We  might  consider  the  religious  revolution  of  the  sixteenth 
century  under  many  other  aspects.  I  have  said  nothing,  and 
have  nothing  to  say,  concerning  its  dogmas,  concerning  its 
effect  on  religion,  in  regard  to  the  relations  of  the  human  soul 
with  God  and  the  eternal  future ;  but  I  might  exhibit  it  to  you 
in  the  diversity  of  its  relations  with  the  social  order,  bringing 
on,  in  all  directions,  results  of  mighty  importance.  For  in- 
stance, it  awoke  religion  amid  the  laity,  and  in  the  world  of 
the  faithful.  Up  to  that  time  religion  had  been,  so  to  speak, 
the  exclusive  domain  of  the  clergy,  of  the  ecclesiastical  order, 
who  distributed  the  fruits  but  disposed  themselves  of  the  tree, 
and  had  almost  alone  the  right  to  speak  of  it.  The  reformation 
caused  a  general  circulation  of  religious  creeds ;  it  opened  to 
believers  the  field  of  faith,  which  hitherto  they  had  had  no  right 
to  enter.  It  had,  at  the  same  time,  a  second  result — it  banished, 
or  nearly  banished,  religion  from  politics;  it  restored  the  in- 
dependence of  the  temporal  power.  At  the  very  moment  when, 
so  to  speak,  religion  came  again  to  the  possession  of  the  faith- 
ful, it  quitted  the  government  of  society.  In  the  reformed 
countries,  notwithstanding  the  diversity  of  ecclesiastical  con- 
stitutions, even  in  England,  where  that  constitution  is  nearer 
to  the  ancient  order  of  things,  the  spiritual  power  no  longer 
makes  any  serious  pretensions  to  the  direction  of  the  temporal 
power. 

I  might  enumerate  many  other  consequences  of  the  reforma- 
tion, but  I  must  check  myself,  and  rest  content  with  having 
placed  before  you  its  principal  character,  the  emancipation  of 
the  human  mind,  and  the  abolition  of  absolute  power  in  the 
spiritual  order — an  abolition  which,  no  doubt,  was  not  com- 
plete, but  nevertheless  formed  the  greatest  step  that  has,  up 
to  our  days,  been  taken  in  this  direction. 

Before  concluding,  I  must  pray  you  to  remark  the  striking 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  189 

similarity  of  destiny  which,  in  the  history  of  modern  Europe, 
presents  itself  as  existing  between  the  civil  and  reUgious  so- 
cieties, in  the  revolutions  to  which  they  have  been  subject. 

The  Christian  society,  as  we  saw  when  I  spoke  of  the  church, 
began  by  being  a  perfectly  free  society,  and  formed  solely  in 
virtue  of  a  common  creed,  without  institutions  or  government, 
properly  so  called,  and  regulated  only  by  moral  powers,  vary- 
ing according  to  the  necessity  of  the  moment.  Civil  society 
commenced  in  like  manner  in  Europe,  or  partially  at  least,  with 
bands  of  barbarians ;  a  society  perfectly  free,  each  one  remain- 
ing in  it  because  he  thought  proper,  without  laws  or  constituted 
powers.  At  the  close  of  this  state,  which  could  not  co-exist 
with  any  considerable  development,  religious  society  placed 
itself  under  an  essentially  aristocratic  government;  it  was  the 
body  of  the  clergy,  the  bishops,  councils  and  ecclesiastical 
aristocracy  which  governed  it.  A  fact  of  the  same  kind  hap- 
pened in  civil  society  at  the  termination  of  barbarism;  it  was 
the  lay  aristocracy,  the  lay  feudal  chiefs,  by  which  it  was 
governed.  Religious  society  left  the  aristocratic  form  to  as- 
sume that  of  pure  monarchy;  that  is  the  meaning  of  the  tri- 
umph of  the  court  of  Rome  over  the  councils  and  over  the 
European  ecclesiastical  aristocracy.  The  same  revolution  ac- 
complished itself  in  civil  society;  it  was  by  the  destruction  of 
aristocratical  power  that  royalty  prevailed  and  took  possession 
of  the  European  world.  In  the  sixteenth  century,  in  the  bosom 
of  religious  society,  an  insurrection  burst  forth  against  the  sys- 
tem of  pure  monarchy,  against  absolute  power  in  the  spiritual 
order.  This  revolution  brought  on,  consecrated,  and  estab- 
lished free  inquiry  in  Europe.  In  our  own  days  we  have  seen 
the  same  event  occurring  in  the  civil  order.  Absolute  tem- 
poral power  was  attacked  and  conquered.  Thus  you  have  seen 
that  the  two  societies  have  undergone  the  same  vicissitudes, 
have  been  subject  to  the  same  revolutions;  only  rehgious  so- 
ciety has  always  been  the  foremost  in  this  career. 

We  are  now  in  possession  of  one  of  the  great  facts  of  modern 
society — namely,  free  inquiry,  the  liberty  of  the  human  mind. 
We  have  seen  that,  at  the  same  time,  political  centralization  al- 
most everywhere  prevailed.  In  my  next  lecture  I  shall  treat 
of  the  English  revolution — that  is  to  say,  of  the  event  in  which 
free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  both  results  of  the  progress 
of  civilization,  found  themselves  for  the  first  time  in  conflict. 


THIRTEENTH   LECTURE. 

YOU  have  seen  that  during  the  sixteenth  century  all  the 
elements  and  features  that  had  belonged  to  former  Eu- 
ropean society  resolved  themselves  into  two  great  facts, 
free  inquiry  and  the  centralization  of  power.  The  first  pre- 
vailed among  the  clergy,  the  second  among  the  laity.  There 
simultaneously  triumphed  in  Europe  the  emancipation  of  the 
human  mind,  and  the  establishment  of  pure  monarchy. 

It  was  scarcely  to  be  expected  but  that  sooner  or  later  a 
struggle  should  arise  between  these  two  principles;  for  they 
were  contradictory;  the  one  was  the  overthrow  of  absolute 
power  in  the  spiritual  order,  the  other  was  its  victory  in  the  tem- 
poral ;  the  first  paved  the  way  for  the  decay  of  the  ancient  ec- 
clesiastical monarchy,  the  last  perfected  the  ruin  of  the  ancient 
feudal  and  communal  liberties.  The  fact  of  their  advent  being 
simultaneous  arose,  as  you  have  seen,  from  the  revolution  in  re- 
ligious society  advancing  with  a  more  rapid  step  than  that  in  the 
civil  society ;  the  one  occurred  exactly  at  the  time  of  the  enfran- 
chisement of  the  individual  mind,  the  other  not  until  the  mo- 
ment of  the  centralization  of  universal  power  under  one  head. 
The  coincidence  of  these  two  facts,  so  far  from  springing  out  of 
their  similitude,  did  not  prevent  their  inconsistency.  They 
were  each  advances  in  the  course  of  civilization,  but  they 
were  advances  arising  from  dissimilar  situations,  and  of 
a  different  moral  date,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  al- 
though contemporary.  That  they  should  run  against  one  an- 
other before  they  came  to  an  understanding  was  inevitable. 

Their  first  collision  was  in  England.  In  the  struggle  of 
free  inquiry,  the  fruit  of  the  reformation,  against  the  ruin  of 
political  liberty,  the  fruit  of  the  triumph  of  pure  monarchy; 
and  in  the  effort  to  abolish  absolute  power,  both  in  the  tem- 
poral and  spiritual  orders,  we  have  the  purport  of  the  English 
revolution,  its  share  in  the  course  of  our  civilization. 

The  question  arises,  why  should  this  struggle  take  place  in 
England  sooner  than  elsewhere?  Wherefore  should  the  rev- 
olutions in  the  political  order  have  coincided  more  closely  with 
those  in  the  moral  order  in  that  country  than  on  the  continent? 

Royalty  in  England  has  undergone  the  same  vicissitudes  as 
on  the  continent.     Under  the  Tudors  it  attained  to  a  concen- 

190 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  191 

tration  and  energy  which  it  has  never  known  since.  It  does 
not  follow  that  the  despotism  of  the  Tudors  was  more  violent, 
or  that  it  cost  dearer  to  England  than  that  of  their  predeces- 
sors. I  believe  that  there  were  at  least  as  many  acts  of  tyranny 
and  instances  of  vexation  and  injustice  under  the  Plantagenets 
as  under  the  Tudors,  perhaps  even  more.  And  I  believe,  like- 
wise, that  at  this  era  the  government  of  pure  monarchy  was 
more  harsh  and  arbitrary  on  the  continent  than  in  England. 
The  new  feature  under  the  Tudors  was  that  absolute  power  be- 
came systematic ;  royalty  assumed  a  primitive  and  independent 
sovereignty;  it  adopted  a  style  hitherto  unknown.  The  theo- 
retical pretensions  of  Henry  VIII,  of  EHzabeth,  of  James  I, 
or  of  Charles  I,  are  entirely  different  to  those  of  Edward  I  or 
Edward  III ;  though  the  power  of  these  two  last  kings  was 
neither  less  arbitrary  nor  less  extensive.  I  repeat,  that  it  was 
the  principle,  the  rational  system  of  monarchy,  rather  than  its 
practical  power,  which  experienced  a  mutation  in  England 
during  the  sixteenth  century ;  royalty  assumed  absolute  power, 
and  pretended  to  be  superior  to  all  laws,  to  those  even  which  it 
had  declared  should  be  respected. 

Again,  the  religious  revolution  was  not  accomplished  in  Eng- 
land in  the  same  manner  as  on  the  continent ;  here  it  was  the 
work  of  the  kings  themselves.  Not  but  that  in  this  country, 
as  elsewhere,  there  had  long  been  the  germs  of,  and  even  at- 
tempts at  a  popular  reformation,  which  would  probably,  ere 
long,  have  been  carried  out.  But  Henry  VIII  took  the  initia- 
tive; power  became  revolutionary.  The  result  was  that,  in 
its  origin,  at  least,  as  a  redress  of  ecclesiastical  tyranny  and 
abuse,  and  as  the  emancipation  of  the  human  mind,  the  refor- 
mation was  far  less  complete  in  England  than  on  the  continent. 
It  consulted,  and  very  naturally,  the  interest  of  its  authors. 
The  king  and  the  retained  episcopacy  shared  the  riches  and 
power,  the  spoils  of  the  preceding  government,  of  the  papacy. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  consequence  was  felt.  It  was  said 
that  the  reformation  was  finished ;  yet  most  of  the  motives  which 
had  made  it  necessary  still  existed.  It  reappeared  under  a  pop- 
ular form ;  it  exclaimed  against  the  bishops  as  it  had  done 
against  the  court  of  Rome ;  it  accused  them  of  being  so  many 
popes.  As  often  as  the  general  character  of  the  religious 
reformation  was  compromised,  whenever  there  was  a  question 
of  a  struggle  with  the  ancient  church,  all  portions  of  the  re- 
formed party  rallied  and  made  head  against  the  common 
enemy;  but  the  danger  passed,  the  interior  struggle  recom- 
menced ;  popular  reform  again  attacked  regal  and  aristocratical 
reform,  denounced  its  abuses,  complained  of  its  tyranny,  called 
upon  it  for  a  fulfillment  of  its  promises,  and  not  again  to  estab- 
lish the  power  which  it  had  dethroned. 


192 


GUIZOT 


There  was,  about  the  same  time,  a  movement  of  enfranchise- 
ment manifested  in  civil  society,  a  need  for  political  freedom,  till 
then  unknown,  or  at  least  powerless.  During  the  sixteenth 
century  the  commercial  prosperity  of  England  increased  with 
excessive  rapidity;  at  the  same  time  territorial  wealth,  landed 
property,  in  a  great  measure  changed  hands.  The  division  of 
land  in  England  in  the  sixteenth  century,  consequent  on  the 
ruin  of  the  feudal  aristocracy  and  other  causes,  too  many  for 
present  enumeration,  is  a  fact  deserving  more  attention  than  has 
yet  been  given  to  it.  All  documents  show  us  the  number  of 
landed  proprietors  increasing  to  an  immense  extent,  and  the 
larger  portion  of  the  lands  passing  into  the  hands  of  the  gentry, 
or  inferior  nobility,  and  the  citizens.  The  upper  house,  the 
higher  nobility,  was  not  nearly  so  rich  at  the  commencement  of 
the  seventeenth  century  as  the  House  of  Commons.  There  was 
then  at  the  same  time  a  great  development  of  commercial  wealth, 
and  a  great  mutation  in  landed  property.  Amid  these  two  in- 
fluences came  a  third — the  new  movement  in  the  minds  of  men. 
The  reign  of  Elizabeth  is,  perhaps,  the  greatest  period  of  Eng- 
lish history  for  literary  and  philosophical  activity,  the  era  of 
lofty  and  fertile  imaginations;  the  Puritans  without  hesitation 
followed  out  all  the  consequences  of  a  vigorous  although  nar- 
row doctrine ;  the  opposite  class  of  minds,  less  moral  and  more 
free,  strangers  to  any  principle  or  method,  received  with  en- 
thusiasm everything  which  promised  to  satisfy  their  curiosity 
or  feed  their  excitement.  Wherever  the  impulse  of  intelligence 
brings  with  it  a  lively  pleasure,  liberty  will  soon  become  a  want, 
and  will  quickly  pass  from  the  public  mind  into  the  government. 

There  was  on  the  Continent,  in  some  of  those  countries  where 
the  reformation  had  gone  forth,  a  manifestation  of  a  similar 
feeling,  a  certain  want  of  political  liberty;  but  the  means  of 
satisfying  it  were  wanting ;  they  knew  not  where  to  look  for  it ; 
no  aid  for  it  could  be  found  either  in  the  institutions  or  in  man- 
ners; they  remained  vague  and  uncertain,  seeking  in  vain  to 
satisfy  their  want.  In  England,  it  was  very  different :  there  the 
spirit  of  political  freedom,  which  reappeared  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  following  the  reformation,  found  its  fulcrum  and  the 
means  of  action  in  the  ancient  institutions  and  social  conditions. 

Every  one  knows  the  origin  of  the  free  institutions  of  Eng- 
land ;  it  is  universally  known  how  the  union  of  the  great  barons 
in  12 1 5  forced  Magna  Charta  from  King  John.  What  is  not  so 
generally  known  is  that  the  great  charter  was  from  time  to 
time  recalled  and  again  confirmed  by  most  of  the  succeeding 
kings.  There  were  more  than  thirty  confirmations  of  it  be- 
tween the  thirteenth  and  the  sixteenth  centuries.  And  not  only 
was  the  charter  confirmed,  but  new  statutes  were  introduced 
for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  and  developing  it.    It  therefore 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  193 

lived,  as  it  were,  without  interval  or  interruption.  At  the  same 
time,  the  House  of  Commons  was  formed,  and  took  its  place 
among  the  supreme  institutions  of  the  country.  It  was  under 
the  Plantagenets  that  it  truly  struck  root ;  not  that  it  took  any 
great  part  in  the  state  during  that  period ;  the  government  did 
not,  properly  speaking,  belong  to  it  even  in  the  way  of  influ- 
ence ;  it  only  interfered  therein  at  the  call  of  the  king,  and  then 
always  reluctantly  and  hesitatingly,  as  if  it  was  more  fearful  of 
engaging  and  compromising  itself  than  desirous  of  augment- 
ing its  power.  But  when  the  matter  in  hand  was  the  defence  of 
private  rights,  the  families  of  fortunes  of  the  citizens,  in  a  word, 
the  liberties  of  the  individual,  the  House  of  Commons  acquitted 
itself  of  its  duty  with  much  energy  and  perseverance,  and 
founded  all  those  principles  which  have  become  the  basis  of  the 
English  constitution. 

After  the  Plantagenets,  and  especially  under  the  Tudors,  the 
House  of  Commons,  or  rather  the  entire  Parliament,  presented 
itself  under  a  different  aspect.  It  no  longer  defended  the  in- 
dividual liberties,  as  under  the  Plantagenets.  Arbitrary  deten- 
tions, the  violation  of  private  rights,  now  become  much  more 
frequent,  are  often  passed  over  in  silence.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Parliament  took  a  much  more  active  part  in  the  general  gov- 
ernment of  the  state. 

In  changing  the  religion,  and  in  regulating  the  order  of  suc- 
cession, Henry  VIII  had  need  of  some  medium,  some  public 
instrument,  and  in  this  want  he  was  supplied  by  the  Parliament, 
and  especially  by  the  House  of  Commons.  Under  the  Planta- 
genets it  had  been  an  instrument  of  resistance,  the  guardian  of 
private  rights;  under  the  Tudors  it  became  an  instrument  of 
government  and  general  policy;  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  although  it  had  undergone  almost  every  species 
of  tyranny,  its  importance  was  much  augmented,  its  great 
power  began,  that  power  upon  which  the  representative  gov- 
ernment depends. 

When  we  glance  at  the  state  of  the  free  institutions  of  Eng- 
land at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  find  first,  funda- 
mental rules  and  principles  of  liberty,  of  which  neither  the 
country  nor  the  legislature  had  ever  lost  sight ;  second,  prece- 
dents, examples  of  liberty,  a  good  deal  mixed,  it  is  true,  with 
inconsistent  examples  and  precedents,  but  sufficing  to  legalize 
and  sustain  the  claims,  and  to  support  the  defenders  of  liberty 
in  any  struggle  against  tyranny  or  despotism ;  third,  special  and 
local  institutions,  replete  with  germs  of  liberty;  the  jury,  the 
right  of  assembling,  and  of  being  armed ;  the  independence  of 
municipal  administrations  and  jurisdictions;  fourth,  and  last, 
the  Parliament  and  its  power,  of  which  the  crown  had  more  need 
than  ever,  since  it  had  lavished  away  the  greater  part  of  its  in- 
13 


194 


GUIZOT 


dependent  revenues,  domains,  feudal  rights,  etc.,  and  was  de- 
pendent for  its  very  support  upon  the  national  vote. 

The  political  condition  of  England,  therefore,  in  the  six- 
teenth century  was  wholly  different  from  that  of  the  continent. 
In  spite  of  the  tyranny  of  the  Tudors,  and  the  systematic  tri- 
umph of  pure  monarchy,  there  was  still  a  fixed  fulcrum,  a  sure 
means  of  action  for  the  new  spirit  of  liberty. 

There  were,  then,  two  national  wants  in  England  at  this 
period:  on  one  side  was  the  need  of  religious  revolution  and 
liberty  in  the  heart  of  the  reformation  already  commenced ;  and 
on  th6  other,  was  required  political  liberty  in  the  heart  of  the 
pure  monarchy  then  in  progress;  and  in  the  course  of  their 
progress  these  two  wants  were  able  to  invoke  all  that  had  al- 
ready been  done  in  either  direction.  They  combined.  The 
party  who  wished  to  pursue  religious  reformation  invoked  polit- 
ical liberty  to  the  assistance  of  its  faith  and  conscience  against 
the  king  and  the  bishops.  The  friends  of  political  liberty  again 
sought  the  aid  of  the  popular  reformation.  The  two  parties 
united  to  struggle  against  absolute  power  in  the  temporal  and 
in  the  spiritual  orders,  a  power  now  concentrated  in  the  hands 
of  the  king.  This  is  the  origin  and  purport  of  the  English  revo- 
lution. 

It  was  thus  essentially  devoted  to  the  defence  or  achievement 
of  liberty.  For  the  religious  party  it  was  a  means,  and  for  the 
political  party  an  end ;  but  with  both  liberty  was  the  question, 
and  they  were  obliged  to  pursue  it  in  common.  There  was  no 
real  religious  quarrel  between  the  Episcopal  and  Puritan  party ; 
little  dispute  upon  dogmas,  or  concerning  faith ;  not  but  there 
existed  real  differences  of  opinion  between  them,  differences  of 
great  importance ;  but  this  was  not  the  principal  point.  Prac- 
tical liberty  was  what  the  Puritans  wished  to  force  from  the 
Episcopal  party:  it  was  for  this  that  they  strove.  There  was 
also  another  religious  party  who  had  to  found  a  system,  to  es- 
tablish its  dogmas,  ecclesiastical  constitution,  and  discipline; 
this  was  the  Presbyterian  party :  but  although  it  worked  to  the 
utmost  of  its  power,  it  did  not  in  this  point  progress  in  propor- 
tion to  its  desire.  Placed  on  the  defensive,  oppressed  by  the 
bishops,  unable  to  act  without  the  assent  of  the  political  re- 
formers, its  allies  and  chief  supporters,  its  dominant  aim  was 
liberty,  the  general  interest  and  common  aim  of  all  the  parties, 
whatever  their  diversity,  who  concurred  in  the  movement. 
Taking  everything  together,  the  English  revolution  was  essen- 
tially political ;  it  was  brought  about  in  the  midst  of  a  religious 
people  and  in  a  religious  age ;  religious  thoughts  and  passions 
were  its  instruments ;  but  its  chief  design  and  definite  aim  were 
political,  were  devoted  to  liberty,  and  the  abolition  of  all  abso- 
lute power. 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  195 

I  shall  now  glance  at  the  different  phases  of  this  revolution 
and  its  great  parties ;  I  shall  then  connect  it  with  the  general 
course  of  European  civilization ;  I  shall  mark  its  place  and  in- 
fluence therein ;  and  show  you  by  a  detail  of  the  facts,  as  at  the 
first  view,  that  it  was  the  first  blow  which  had  been  struck  in 
the  cause  of  free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  the  first  manifes- 
tation of  a  struggle  between  these  two  great  powers. 

Three  principal  parties  sprung  up  in  this  great  crisis,  three 
revolutions  in  a  manner  were  comprised  in  it,  and  successively 
appeared  upon  the  scene.  In  each  party,  and  in  each  revolu- 
tion, two  parties  are  allied,  and  work  conjointly,  a  political  and 
a  religious  party ;  the  first  at  the  head,  the  second  followed,  but 
each  necessary  to  the  other;  so  that  the  twofold  character  of 
the  event  is  impressed  upon  all  its  phases. 

The  first  party  which  appeared  was  the  party  of  legal  reform, 
under  whose  banner  all  the  others  at  first  ranged  themselves. 
When  the  English  revolution  commenced,  when  the  Long  Par- 
liament was  assembled  in  1640,  it  was  universally  said,  and  by 
many  sincerely  believed,  that  the  legal  reform  would  suffice  for 
all  things ;  that  in  the  ancient  laws  and  customs  of  the  country 
there  was  that  which  would  remedy  all  abuses,  and  which  would 
re-establish  a  system  of  government  entirely  conformable  to  the 
public  wishes.  This  party  loudly  censured  and  sincerely  wished 
to  prevent  the  illegal  collecting  of  taxes,  arbitrary  imprison- 
ments, in  a  word,  all  acts  disallowed  by  the  known  laws  of  the 
country.  At  the  root  of  its  ideas  was  the  belief  in  the  king's 
sovereignty — that  is,  in  absolute  power.  A  secret  instinct 
warned  it,  indeed,  that  there  was  something  false  and  dangerous 
therein;  it  wished,  therefore,  to  say  nothing  of  it;  pushed  to 
the  extremity,  however,  and  forced  to  explain  itself,  it  admitted 
in  royalty  a  power  superior  to  all  human  origin,  and 
above  all  control,  and,  when  need  was,  defended  it.  It  be- 
lieved at  the  same  time  that  this  sovereignty,  absolute  in 
theory,  was  bound  to  observe  certain  forms  and  rules ;  that  it 
could  not  extend  beyond  certain  limits  ;  and  these  rules,  forms, 
and  limits  were  sufficiently  established  and  guaranteed  in  the 
great  charter,  in  the  confirmatory  statutes,  and  in  the  ancient 
laws  of  the  country.  Such  was  its  political  idea.  In  religious 
matters,  the  legal  party  thought  that  the  Episcopal  power  was 
excessive ;  that  the  bishops  had  too  much  political  power,  that 
their  jurisdiction  was  too  extensive,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to 
overlook  and  restrain  its  exercise.  Still,  it  firmly  supported  the 
episcopacy,  not  only  as  an  ecclesiastical  institution,  and  as  a  sys- 
tem of  church  government,  but  as  a  necessary  support  for  the 
royal  prerogative,  as  a  means  of  defending  and  maintaining  the 
supremacy  of  the  king  in  religious  matters.  The  sovereignty 
of  the  king  in  the  political  order  being  exercised  according  to 


196  GUIZOT 

known  forms,  and  within  the  limits  of  acknowledged  rules,  roy- 
alty in  the  religious  order  should  be  sustained  by  the  episcopacy  ; 
such  was  the  twofold  system  of  the  legal  party,  of  which  the 
chiefs  were  Clarendon,  Colepepper,  Lord  Capel,  and  Lord  Falk- 
land himself,  although  an  ardent  advocate  of  public  liberty,  and 
a  man  who  numbered  in  his  ranks  almost  all  the  high  nobility 
who  were  not  servilely  devoted  to  the  court. 

Behind  these  followed  a  second  party,  which  I  shall  call  the 
party  of  the  political  revolution  ;  these  were  of  opinion  that  the 
ancient  guarantees  and  legal  barriers  had  been  and  still  were  in- 
sufficient ;  that  a  great  change,  a  regular  revolution  was  neces- 
sary, not  in  the  forms,  but  in  the  realities  of  government  :  that 
it  was  necessary  to  withdraw  from  the  king  and  his  counsel  the 
independence  of  their  power,  and  to  place  the  political  prepon- 
derance in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  that  the  government,  prop- 
erly so  called,  should  belong  to  this  assembly  and  its  chiefs.  This 
party  did  not  give  an  account  of  their  ideas  and  intentions  as 
clearly  and  systematically  as  I  have  done ;  but  this  was  the  es- 
sence of  its  doctrines,  of  its  political  tendencies.  Instead  of  the 
sovereignty  of  the  king,  pure  monarchy,  it  believed  in  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  House  of  Commons  as  the  representative  of  the 
country.  Under  this  idea  was  hidden  that  of  the  sovereignty  of 
the  people,  an  idea,  the  bearing  of  which  and  its  consequences, 
the  party  was  very  far  from  contemplating,  but  which  presented 
itself,  and  was  received  under  the  form  of  the  sovereignty  of  the 
House  of  Commons. 

A  religious  party,  that  of  the  Presbyterians,  was  closely  united 
with  the  party  of  the  political  revolution.  The  Presbyterians 
wished  to  bring  about  in  the  church  a  revolution  analogous  to 
that  meditated  by  their  allies  in  the  state.  They  wished  to  gov- 
ern the  church  by  assemblies,  giving  the  religious  power  to  an 
hierarchy  of  assemblages  agreeing  one  with  the  other,  as  their 
allies  had  invested  the  House  of  Commons  with  the  political 
power.  But  the  Presbyterian  revolution  was  more  vigorous 
and  complete,  for  it  tended  to  change  the  form  as  well  as  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  government  of  the  church,  while  the  political  party 
wished  only  to  moderate  the  influences  and  preponderating 
power  of  institutions,  and  did  not  meditate  an  overthrow  of  the 
form  of  the  institutions  themselves. 

But  the  chiefs  of  the  political  party  were  not  all  of  them  favor- 
able to  the  Presbyterian  organization  of  the  church.  Many  of 
them,  as  for  instance,  Hampden  and  Holies,  would  have  pre- 
ferred, it  seems,  a  moderate  episcopacy,  confined  to  purely  ec- 
clesiastical duties,  and  more  freedom  of  conscience.  But  they 
resigned  themselves  to  it,  being  unable  to  do  without  their  fanat- 
ical allies. 

A  third  party  was  yet  more  exorbitant  in  its  demands  :  this 


CIVILIZATION  IN   EUROPE  197 

party  asserted  that  an  entire  change  was  necessary,  not  only  in 
the  form  of  government,  but  in  government  itself  ;  that  the 
whole  political  constitution  was  bad.  This  party  repudiated  the 
past  ages  of  England,  renounced  the  national  institutions  and 
memories,  with  the  intention  of  founding  a  new  government, 
according  to  a  pure  theory,  or  what  it  supposed  to  be  such.  It 
was  not  a  mere  reform  in  the  government,  but  a  social  revolu- 
tion which  this  party  wished  to  bring  about.  The  party  of  which 
I  just  now  spoke,  that  of  the  political  revolution,  wished  to  in- 
troduce important  changes  in  the  relations  between  the  Parlia- 
ment and  the  crown  ;  it  wished  to  extend  the  power  of  Parlia- 
ment, particularly  that  of  the  House  of  Commons,  giving  them 
the  nomination  to  high  public  offices,  and  the  supreme  direction 
in  general  affairs  ;  but  its  project  of  reform  extended  very  little 
further  than  this.  For  instance,  it  had  no  idea  of  changing  the 
electoral,  judicial  or  municipal  and  administrative  systems  of 
the  country.  The  republican  party  meditated  on  all  these 
changes,  and  proclaimed  their  necessity  ;  and,  in  a  word,  wished 
to  reform,  not  only  the  public  administration,  but  also  the  social 
relations  and  the  distribution  of  private  rights. 

This  party,  like  that  which  preceded  it,  was  partly  religious 
and  partly  political.  The  political  portion  included  the  repub- 
licans, properly  so  called,  the  theorists,  Ludlow,  Harrington, 
Milton,  etc.  On  that  side  were  ranged  the  republicans  from  in- 
terest, the  chief  officers  of  the  army,  Ireton,  Cromwell,  and  Lam- 
bert, who,  more  or  less  sincere  at  the  onset,  were  soon  swayed 
and  guided  by  interested  views  and  the  necessities  of  their  situa- 
tions. Around  these  collected  the  religious  republican  party, 
which  included  all  those  enthusiasts  who  acknowledged  no  legiti- 
mate power  except  that  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  who,  while  waiting 
for  his  advent,  wished  to  be  governed  by  his  elect.  And,  lastly, 
the  party  was  followed  by  a  large  number  of  inferior  free-think- 
ers, and  fantastical  dreamers,  the  one  set  in  hope  of  license,  the 
other  of  equality  of  property  and  universal  suffrage. 

In  1653,  after  a  struggle  of  twelve  years,  all  these  parties  had 
successively  failed  ;  at  least,  they  had  reason  to  believe  they  had 
failed,  and  the  public  was  convinced  of  their  failure.  The  legal 
party,  which  quickly  disappeared,  had  seen  the  ancient  laws  and 
constitution  disdained  and  trodden  under  foot,  and  innovation 
visible  upon  every  side.  The  party  of  political  reform  saw  par- 
liamentary forms  perish  under  the  new  use  which  they  wished  to 
make  of  them  ;  they  saw  the  House  of  Commons,  after  a  sway  of 
twelve  years,  reduced  by  the  successive  expulsion  of  the  royal- 
ists and  the  Presbyterians  to  a  very  trifling  number  of  members, 
and  those  looked  upon  by  the  public  with  contempt  and  detesta- 
tion, and  incapable  of  governing.  The  republican  party  seemed 
to  have  succeeded  better  :  it  remained,  to  all  appearance,  master 


198  GUIZOT 

of  the  field  of  battle,  of  power  ;  the  House  of  Commons  reckoned 
no  more  than  from  fifty  to  sixty  members,  and  all  of  these  were 
republicans.  They  might  fairly  deem  themselves  and  declare 
themselves  masters  of  the  country.  But  the  contrary  absolutely 
rejected  them  ;  they  could  nowhere  carry  their  resolutions  into 
effect  ;  they  exercised  no  practical  influence  either  over  the 
army  or  over  the  people.  There  no  longer  subsisted  any  social 
tie,  any  social  security  ;  justice  was  no  longer  administered,  or, 
if  it  was,  it  was  no  longer  justice,  but  the  arbitrary  rendering  of 
decrees  at  the  dictation  of  passion,  prejudice,  party.  And  not 
only  was  there  an  entire  disappearance  of  security  from  the  social 
relations  of  men,  there  was  none  whatever  on  the  highways, 
which  were  covered  with  thieves  and  robbers  ;  material  anarchy, 
as  well  as  moral  anarchy,  manifested  itself  in  every  direction,  and 
the  House  of  Commons  and  the  Republican  Council  were  wholly 
incapable  of  repressing  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

The  three  great  parties  of  the  revolution  had  thus  been  called 
successively  to  conduct  it,  to  govern  the  country  according  to 
their  knowledge  and  will,  and  they  had  not  been  able  to  do 
it  ;  they  had  all  three  of  them  completely  failed  ;  they  could  do 
nothing  more.  **  It  was  then,"  says  Bossuet,  "  that  a  man  was 
found  who  left  nothing  to  fortune  which  he  could  take  from  it 
by  council  or  foresight  ;"  an  expression  full  of  error,  and  con- 
troverted by  all  history.  Never  did  man  leave  more  to  fortune 
than  Cromwell  ;  never  has  man  hazarded  more,  gone  on  with 
more  temerity,  without  design  or  aim,  but  determined  to  go  as 
far  as  fate  should  carry  him.  An  unlimited  ambition,  an  ad- 
mirable faculty  of  extracting  from  every  day  and  circumstance 
some  new  means  of  progress,  the  art  of  turning  chance  to  profit, 
without  pretending  to  rule  it — all  these  were  Cromwell's.  It 
was  with  Cromwell,  as  perhaps  it  has  been  with  no  other  man  in 
his  circumstances  ;  he  sufficed  for  all  the  most  various  phases  of 
the  revolution  ;  he  was  a  man  for  its  first  and  latest  epochs  ; 
first  of  all,  he  was  the  leader  of  insurrection,  the  abettor  of  an- 
archy, the  most  fiery  of  the  English  revolutionists  ;  afterward 
the  man  for  the  anti-revolutionary  reaction,  for  the  re-establish- 
ment of  order,  and  for  social  organization  ;  thus  performing 
singly  all  the  parts  which,  in  the  course  of  revolutions,  are  divid- 
ed among  the  greatest  actors.  One  can  hardly  say  that  Crom- 
well was  a  Mirabeau ;  he  wanted  eloquence,  and,  although  very 
active,  did  not  make  any  show  during  the  first  years  of  the  Long 
Parliament.  But  he  was  successively  a  Danton  and  a  Bona- 
parte. He,  more  than  any  others,  had  contributed  to  the  over- 
throw of  power  ;  and  he  raised  it  up  again  because  none  but  he 
knew  how  to  assume  and  manage  it  ;  some  one  must  govern  ; 
all  had  failed,  and  he  succeeded.  That  constituted  his  title. 
Once  master  of  the  government,  this  man,  whose  ambition  had 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  199 

shown  itself  so  bold  and  insatiable,  who,  in  his  progress  had  al- 
ways driven  fortune  before  him,  determined  never  to  stop,  now 
displayed  a  good  sense,  prudence,  and  knowledge  of  the  possible, 
which  dominated  all  his  most  violent  passions.  He  had,  no 
doubt,  a  great  love  for  absolute  power  and  a  strong  desire  to 
place  the  crown  on  his  own  head  and  establish  it  in  his  family. 
He  renounced  this  last  design,  the  danger  of  which  he  saw  in 
time  ;  and,  as  to  the  absolute  power,  although,  in  fact,  he  exer- 
cised it,  he  always  knew  that  the  tendency  of  his  age  was  against 
it  ;  that  the  revolution  in  which  he  had  co-operated  and  which 
he  had  followed  through  all  its  phases,  had  been  directed  against 
despotism,  and  that  the  imperishable  desire  of  England  was  to 
be  governed  by  a  parliament  and  in  parliamentary  forms.  There- 
fore, he  himself,  a  despot  by  inclination  and  in  fact,  undertook 
to  have  a  parliament  and  to  govern  in  a  parliamentary  manner. 
He  addressed  himself  unceasingly  to  all  parties  ;  he  endeavored 
to  form  a  parliament  of  religious  enthusiasts,  of  republicans,  of 
Presbyterians,  of  officers  of  the  army.  He  attempted  all  means 
to  constitute  a  parliament  which  could  and  would  co-operate 
with  him.  He  tried  in  vain  :  all  parties,  once  seated  in  West- 
minster, wished  to  snatch  from  him  the  power  which  he  exer- 
cised, and  rule  in  their  turn.  I  do  not  say  that  his  own  interest 
and  personal  passion  were  not  first  in  his  thoughts  ;  but  it  is  not 
therefore  the  less  certain  that,  if  he  had  abandoned  power,  he 
would  have  been  obliged  to  take  it  up  again  the  next  day. 
Neither  Puritans  nor  royalists,  republicans  nor  officers,  none, 
besides  Cromwell,  was  in  condition  to  govern  with  any  degree 
of  order  or  justice.  The  proof  had  been  shown.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  allow  the  Parliament,  that  is  to  say,  the  parties  sitting  in 
Parliament,  to  take  the  empire  which  they  could  not  keep.  Such, 
then,  was  the  situation  of  Cromwell  ;  he  governed  according  to 
a  system  which  he  knew  very  well  was  not  that  of  the  country ; 
he  exercised  a  power  acknowledged  as  necessary,  but  accepted 
by  no  one.  No  party  regarded  his  dominion  as  a  definitive 
government.  The  royalists,  the  Presbyterians,  the  republicans, 
the  army  itself,  the  party  which  seemed  most  devoted  to  Crom- 
well, all  were  convinced  that  he  was  but  a  transitory  master. 
At  bottom  he  never  reigned  over  men's  minds;  he  was  never 
anything  but  a  make-shift,  a  necessity  of  the  moment.  The 
protector,  the  absolute  master  of  England,  was  all  his  life 
obliged  to  employ  force  in  order  to  protect  his  power ;  no  party 
could  govern  like  him,  but  no  party  wished  him  for  governor : 
he  was  constantly  attacked  by  all  parties  at  once. 

At  his  death  the  republicans  alone  were  in  a  condition  to  seize 
upon  power  ;  they  did  so,  and  succeeded  no  better  than  they  had 
done  before.  This  was  not  for  want  of  confidence,  at  least  as 
regards  the  fanatics  of  the  party.     A  pamphlet  of  Milton,  pub- 


200  GUIZOT 

lished  at  this  period  and  full  of  talent  and  enthusiasm,  is  entitled, 
"  A  ready  and  easy  way  to  establish  a  free  commonwealth."  You 
see  what  was  the  blindness  of  these  men.  They  very  soon  fell 
again  into  that  impossibility  of  governing  which  they  had  already 
experienced.  Monk  undertook  the  conduct  of  the  event  which 
all  England  looked  for.     The  restoration  was  accomplished. 

The  restoration  of  the  Stuarts  in  England  was  a  deeply  na- 
tional event.  It  presented  itself  with  the  advantages  at  once  of 
an  ancient  government,  of  a  government  which  rests  upon  its 
traditions,  upon  the  recollections  of  the  country  and  with  the 
advantages  of  a  new  government,  of  which  no  recent  trial  has 
been  made  and  of  which  the  faults  and  weight  have  not  been  ex- 
perienced. The  ancient  monarchy  was  the  only  species  of  gov- 
ernment which  for  the  last  twenty  years  had  not  been  despised 
for  its  incapacity  and  ill-success  in  the  administration  of  the 
country.  These  two  causes  rendered  the  restoration  popular  ; 
it  had  nothing  to  oppose  it  but  the  remnants  of  violent  parties, 
and  the  public  rallied  around  it  heartily.  It  was,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  country,  the  only  means  of  legal  government  ;  that  is  to 
say,  of  that  which  the  country  most  ardently  desired.  This  was 
also  what  the  restoration  promised,  and  it  was  careful  to  present 
itself  under  the  aspect  of  a  legal  government. 

The  first  royalist  party  which,  at  the  return  of  Charles  II,  un- 
dertook the  management  of  affairs  was,  in  fact,  the  legal  party, 
represented  by  its  most  able  chief,  the  Chancellor  Clarendon. 
You  are  aware  that,  from  1660  to  1667,  Clarendon  was  prime 
minister,  and  the  truly  predominating  influence  in  England. 
Clarendon  and  his  friends  reappeared  with  their  ancient  system, 
the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king,  kept  within  legal  limits, 
and  restrained,  in  matters  of  taxation,  by  Parliament,  and  in 
matters  of  private  rights  and  individual  liberties,  by  the  tribu- 
nals ;  but  possessing,  as  regards  government,  properly  so  called, 
an  almost  complete  independence,  the  most  decisive  preponder- 
ance, to  the  exclusion,  or  even  against  the  wishes  of  the  ma- 
jority in  Parliament,  especially  in  the  House  of  Commons.  As 
to  the  rest,  they  had  a  due  respect  for  legal  order,  a  sufficient 
soHcitude  for  the  interests  of  the  country,  a  noble  sentiment  of 
its  dignity,  and  a  grave  and  honorable  moral  tone;  such  was  the 
character  of  Clarendon's  administration  of  seven  years. 

But  the  fundamental  ideas  upon  which  this  administra- 
tion rested,  the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king,  and  the  govern- 
ment, placed  beyond  the  influence  of  the  preponderating  opinion 
of  Parliament,  these  ideas,  I  say,  were  obsolete,  impotent.  In 
spite  of  the  reaction  of  the  first  moments  of  the  restoration, 
twenty  years  of  parliamentary  rule,  in  opposition  to  royalty,  had 
irremediably  ruined  them.  A  new  element  soon  burst  forth  in 
the  center  of  the  royalist  party:  free-thinkers,  rakes  and  liber- 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  20X 

tines,  who  participated  in  the  ideas  of  the  time,  conceived  that 
power  was  vested  in  the  Commons,  and  caring  very  httle  for 
legal  order  or  the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king,  troubled 
themselves  only  for  their  own  success,  and  sought  it  whenever 
they  caught  a  glimpse  of  any  means  of  influence  or  power. 
These  formed  a  party  which  became  allied  with  the  national  dis- 
contented party,  and  Clarendon  was  overthrown. 

Thus  arose  a  new  system  of  government,  namely,  that  of  that 
portion  of  the  royalist  party  which  I  have  now  described :  profli- 
gates and  libertines  formed  the  ministry,  which  is  called  the  min- 
istry of  the  Cabal,  and  many  other  administrations  which  suc- 
ceeded it.  This  was  their  character;  no  care  for  principles,  laws 
or  rights;  as  little  for  justice  and  for  truth;  they  sought  upon 
each  occasion  to  discover  the  means  of  succeeding;  if  success 
depended  upon  the  influence  of  the  Commons,  they  chimed  in 
with  their  opinions ;  if  it  seemed  expedient  to  flout  the  House  of 
Commons,  they  did  so,  and  begged  its  pardon  on  the  morrow. 
Corruption  was  tried  one  day,  flattery  of  the  national  spirit, 
another;  there  was  no  regard  paid  to  the  general  interests  of  the 
country,  to  its  dignity,  or  to  its  honor;  in  a  word,  their  govern- 
ment was  profoundly  selfish  and  immoral,  a  stranger  to  all  pub- 
lic doctrine  or  views ;  but  at  bottom,  and  in  the  practical  admin- 
istration of  affairs,  very  intelligent  and  liberal.  Such  was  the 
character  of  the  Cabal,  of  the  ministry  of  the  Earl  of  Danby,  and 
of  the  entire  English  government,  from  1667  to  1678.  Notwith- 
standing its  immorality,  notwithstanding  its  contempt  of  the 
principles  and  the  true  interests  of  the  country,  this  government 
was  less  odious  and  less  unpopular  than  the  ministry  of  Claren- 
don had  been:  and  why?  because  it  was  much  better  adapted  to 
the  times,  and  because  it  better  understood  the  sentiments  of  the 
people,  even  in  mocking  them.  It  was  not  antiquated  and  for- 
eign to  them,  like  that  of  Clarendon;  and  though  it  did  the  coun- 
try much  more  harm,  the  country  found  it  more  agreeable. 
Nevertheless,  there  came  a  moment  when  corruption,  servility 
and  contempt  of  rights  and  public  honor  were  pushed  to  such 
a  point  that  the  people  could  no  longer  remain  resigned.  There 
was  a  general  rising  against  the  government  of  the  profligates. 
A  national  and  patriotic  party  had  formed  itself  in  the  bosom  of 
the  House  of  Commons.  The  king  decided  upon  calling  its 
chiefs  to  the  council.  Then  came  to  the  direction  of  affairs  Lord 
Essex,  the  son  of  him  who  had  commanded  the  first  parliament- 
ary armies  during  the  civil  war,  Lord  Russell,  and  a  man  who, 
without  having  any  of  their  virtues,  was  far  superior  to  them  in 
political  ability.  Lord  Shaftesbury.  Brought  thus  to  the  man- 
agement of  affairs,  the  national  party  showed  itself  incompetent ; 
it  knew  not  how  to  possess  itself  of  the  moral  force  of  the  country ; 
it  knew  not  how  to  treat  the  interests  either  of  the  king,  the  court 
or  of  any  of  those  with  whom  it  had  to  do.     It  gave  to  no  one ; 


202  GUIZOT 

neither  to  the  people  nor  to  the  king,  any  great  notion  of  its 
ability  and  energy.  After  remaining  a  short  time  in  power,  it 
failed.  The  virtue  of  its  chiefs,  their  generous  courage,  the 
nobleness  of  their  deaths,  have  exalted  them  in  history,  and  have 
justly  placed  them  in  the  highest  rank ;  but  their 'political  capac- 
ity did  not  answer  to  their  virtue,  and  they  knew  not  how  to 
wield  the  power  which  could  not  corrupt  them,  nor  to  secure 
the  triumph  of  the  cause  for  the  sake  of  which  they  knew  how  to 
die. 

This  attempt  having  failed,  you  perceive  the  condition  of  the 
English  restoration ;  it  had,  after  a  manner,  and  like  the  revolu- 
tion, tried  all  parties  and  all  ministries,  the  legal  ministry,  the 
corrupted  ministry,  and  the  national  ministry,  but  none  had  suc- 
ceeded. The  country  and  the  court  found  themselves  in  much 
the  same  situation  as  that  of  England  in  1653,  at  the  end  of  the 
revolutionary  tempest.  Recourse  was  had  to  the  same  ex- 
pedient; what  Cromwell  had  done  for  the  good  of  the  revolution, 
Charles  II  did  for  the  good  of  his  crown;  he  entered  the  career 
of  absolute  power. 

James  II  succeeded  his  brother.  Then  a  second  question  was 
added  to  that  of  absolute  power;  namely,  the  question  of  reli- 
gion. James  II  desired  to  bring  about  the  triumph  of  popery 
as  well  as  that  of  despotism.  Here,  then,  as  at  the  beginning  of 
the  revolution,  we  have  a  religious  and  a  political  warfare,  both 
directed  against  the  government.  It  has  often  been  asked,  what 
would  have  happened  had  William  III  never  existed,  or  had  he 
not  come  with  his  Hollanders  to  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  which 
had  arisen  between  James  II  and  the  English  nation?  I  firmly 
believe  that  the  same  event  would  have  been  accomplished.  All 
England,  except  a  very  small  party,  had  rallied,  at  this  epoch, 
against  James,  and,  under  one  form  or  another,  it  would  have 
accomplished  the  revolution  of  1688.  But  this  crisis  was  pro- 
duced by  other  and  higher  causes  than  the  internal  state  of  Eng- 
land. It  was  European  as  well  as  English.  It  is  here  that  the 
English  revolution  connects  itself  by  facts  themselves,  and  inde- 
pendently of  the  influence  which  its  example  may  have  had  with 
the  general  course  of  European  civilization. 

While  this  struggle,  which  I  have  sketched  in  outline,  this 
struggle  erf  absolute  power  against  civil  and  religious  liberty, 
was  taking  place  in  England,  a  struggle  of  the  same  kind  was 
going  on  upon  the  continent,  very  different,  indeed,  as  regards 
the  actors,  forms  and  theater,  but  at  bottom  the  same,  and 
originated  by  the  same  cause.  The  pure  monarchy  of  Louis 
XIV  endeavored  to  become  an  universal  monarchy;  at  least  it 
gave  reason  for  the  fear  that  such  was  the  case;  and,  in  fact, 
Europe  did  fear  that  it  was.  A  league  was  made  in  Europe, 
between  various  political  parties,  in  order  to  resist  this  attempt, 
and  the  chief  of  this  league  was  the  chief  of  the  party  in  favor  of 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  203 

civil  and  religious  liberty  upon  the  continent,  William,  Prince  of 
Orange.  The  Protestant  republic  of  Holland,  with  William  at 
its  head,  undertook  to  resist  the  pure  monarchy  represented  and 
conducted  by  Louis  XIV.  It  was  not  civil  and  religious  liberty 
in  the  interior  of  the  states,  but  their  external  independence 
which  was  apparently  the  question.  Louis  XIV  and  his  adver- 
saries did  not  imagine  that,  in  fact,  they  were  contesting  between 
them  the  question  which  was  being  contested  in  England.  This 
struggle  went  on,  not  between  parties,  but  between  states;  it  pro- 
ceeded by  war  and  diplomacy,  not  by  political  movements  and 
by  revolutions.  But,  at  bottom,  one  and  the  same  question  was 
at  issue. 

When,  therefore,  James  II  resumed  in  England  the  contest 
between  absolute  power  and  liberty,  this  contest  occurred  just  in 
the  midst  of  the  general  struggle  which  was  going  on  in  Europe 
between  Louis  XIV  and  the  Prince  of  Orange,  the  represent- 
atives, severally,  of  the  two  great  systems  at  war  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Scheldt,  as  well  as  on  those  of  the  Thames.  The  league 
was  so  powerful  against  Louis  XIV  that,  openly,  or  in  a  hidden 
but  very  real  manner,  sovereigns  were  seen  to  enter  it,  who  were 
assuredly  very  far  from  being  interested  in  favor  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty.  The  emperor  of  Germany  and  Pope  Innocent 
XI  supported  William  III  against  Louis  XIV.  William  passed 
into  England,  less  in  order  to  serve  the  internal  interests  of  the 
country  than  to  draw  it  completely  into  the  struggle  against 
Louis  XIV.  He  took  this  new  kingdom  as  a  new  power  of 
which  he  was  in  want,  and  of  which  his  opponent  had,  up  to  that 
time,  made  use  against  them.  While  Charles  II  and  James  II 
reigned,  England  belonged  to  Louis  XIV;  he  had  directed  its 
external  relations,  and  had  constantly  opposed  it  to  Holland. 
England  was  now  snatched  from  the  party  of  pure  and  universal 
monarchy  in  order  to  become  the  instrument  and  strongest  sup- 
port of  the  party  of  religious  liberty.  This  is  the  European 
aspect  of  the  revolution  of  1688;  it  was  thus  that  it  occupied  a 
place  in  the  total  result  of  the  events  of  Europe,  independently  of 
the  part  which  it  played  by  means  of  its  example,  and  the  influ- 
ence which  it  exercised  upon  minds  in  the  following  century. 

Thus  you  see  that,  as  I  told  you  in  the  beginning,  the  true 
meaning  and  essential  character  of  this  revolution  was  the  at- 
tempt to  abolish  absolute  power  in  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual 
things.  This  act  discovers  itself  in  all  the  phases  of  the  revo- 
lution— in  its  first  period  up  to  the  restoration,  in  the  second  up 
to  the  crisis  of  1688 — and  whether  we  consider  it  in  its  internal 
development  or  in  its  relations  with  Europe  in  general. 

It  now  remains  for  us  to  study  the  same  great  event  upon  the 
continent,  the  struggle  of  pure  monarchy  and  free  inquiry,  or, 
at  least,  its  causes  and  approaches.  This  will  be  the  subject  of 
our  next  lecture. 


FOURTEENTH    LECTURE. 

IN  my  last  lecture  I  endeavored  to  determine  the  true  char- 
acter and  poHtical  meaning  of  the  EngHsh  revolution.  We 
have  seen  that  it  was  the  first  shock  of  the  two  great  facts 
to  which  all  the  civilization  of  primitive  Europe  reduced  itself  in 
the  course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  namely,  pure  monarchy  on 
one  hand  and  free  inquiry  on  the  other;  those  two  powers  came 
to  strife  for  the  first  time  in  England.  Attempts  have  been  made 
to  infer  from  this  fact  the  existence  of  a  radical  difference 
between  the  social  state  of  England  and  that  of  the  continent; 
some  have  pretended  that  no  comparison  was  possible  between 
countries  of  destinies  so  different;  they  have  affirmed  that  the 
English  people  had  existed  in  a  kind  of  moral  isolation  analo- 
gous to  its  material  situation. 

It  is  true  that  there  had  been  an  important  difference  between 
English  civilization  and  the  civilization  of  the  continental 
states — a  difference  which  we  are  bound  to  calculate.  You 
have  already,  in  the  course  of  my  lectures,  been  enabled  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  it.  The  development  of  the  different  principles  and 
elements  of  society  occurred  in  England  simultaneously,  and,  as 
it  were,  abreast;  at  least  far  more  so  than  upon  the  continent. 
When  I  attempted  to  determine  the  peculiar  physiognomy  of 
European  civilization  as  compared  with  the  ancient  and  Asiatic 
civilizations,  I  showed  you  the  first,  varied,  rich  and  complex; 
that  it  never  fell  under  the  dominion  of  an  exclusive  principle; 
that  therein  the  various  elements  of  the  social  state  were  modi- 
fied, combined,  and  struggled  with  each  other,  and  had  been 
constantly  compelled  to  agree  and  live  in  common.  This  fact, 
the  general  characteristic  of  European  civilization,  has  above  all 
characterized  the  English  civilization;  it  was  in  England  that 
this  character  developed  itself  with  the  most  continuity  and  ob- 
viousness; it  was  there  that  the  civil  and  religious  orders,  aris- 
tocracy, democracy,  royalty,  local  and  central  institutions,  moral 
and  political  developments,  progressed  and  increased  together, 
pell-mell,  so  to  speak,  and  if  not  with  an  equal  rapidity,  at  least 
always  within  a  short  distance  of  each  other.  Under  the  reign 
of  the  Tudors,  for  instance,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  brilHant 
progress  of  pure  monarchy,  we  see  the  democratical  principle, 
the  popular  power,  arising  and  strengthening  itself  at  the  same 

204 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  205 

time.  The  revolution  of  the  seventeenth  century  burst  forth ;  it 
was  at  the  same  time  religious  and  political.  The  feudal  aristoc- 
racy appeared  here  in  a  very  weakened  condition,  and  with  all 
the  symptoms  of  decline;  nevertheless,  it  was  ever  in  a  position 
to  preserve  a  place  and  play  an  important  part  therein,  and  to 
take  its  share  in  the  results.  It  is  the  same  with  the  entire 
course  of  English  history :  never  has  any  ancient  element  com- 
pletely perished ;  never  has  any  new  element  wholly  triumphed, 
or  any  special  principle  attained  to  an  exclusive  preponderance. 
There  has  always  been  a  simultaneous  development  of  different 
forces,  a  compromise  between  their  pretensions  and  their  in- 
terests. 

Upon  the  continent  the  progress  of  civilization  has  been  much 
less  complex  and  complete.  The  various  elements  of  society — 
the  religious  and  civil  orders — monarchy,  aristocracy  and 
democracy,  have  developed  themselves,  not  together  and 
abreast,  but  in  succession.  Each  principle,  each  system  has 
had,  after  a  certain  manner,  its  turn.  Such  a  century  belongs,  I 
will  not  say  exclusively,  which  would  be  saying  too  much,  but 
with  a  very  marked  preponderance,  to  feudal  aristocracy,  for  ex- 
ample; another  belongs  to  the  monarchical  principle;  a  third  to 
the  democratical  system. 

Compare  the  French  with  the  English  middle  ages,  the 
eleventh,  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  of  our  history  with 
the  corresponding  centuries  beyond  the  channel;  you  will  find 
that  at  this  period  in  France  feudalism  was  almost  absolutely 
sovereign,  while  royalty  and  the  democratical  principle  were 
next  to  nullities.  Look  to  England:  it  is,  indeed,  the  feudal 
aristocracy  which  predominates ;  but  royalty  and  democracy 
were  nevertheless  powerful  and  important. 

Royalty  triumphed  in  England  under  Elizabeth,  as  in  France 
under  Louis  XIV;  but  how  many  precautions  was  it  obliged  to 
take ;  to  how  many  restrictions — now  from  the  aristocracy,  now 
from  the  democracy,  did  it  submit !  In  England,  also,  each  sys- 
tem and  each  principle  has  had  its  day  of  power  and  success,  but 
never  so  completely,  so  exclusively  as  upon  the  continent;  the 
conqueror  has  always  been  compelled  to  tolerate  the  presence 
of  his  rivals,  and  to  allow  each  his  share. 

With  the  differences  in  the  progress  of  the  two  civilizations  are 
connected  advantages  and  disadvantages,  which  manifest  them- 
selves, in  fact,  in  the  history  of  the  two  countries.  There  can  be 
no  doubt,  for  instance,  but  that  this  simultaneous  development 
of  the  different  social  elements  greatly  contributed  to  carry 
England,  more  rapidly  than  any  other  of  the  continental  states, 
to  the  final  aim  of  all  society — namely,  the  establishment  of  a 
government  at  once  regular  and  free.  It  is  precisely  the  nature 
of  a  government  to  concern  itself  for  all  interests  and  all  powers, 


2o6  GUIZOT 

to  reconcile  them,  and  to  induce  them  to  live  and  prosper  in  com- 
mon ;  now,  such,  beforehand,  by  the  concurrence  of  a  multitude 
of  causes,  was  the  disposition  and  relation  of  the  different  ele- 
ments of  English  society ;  a  general  and  somewhat  regular  gov- 
ernment had  therefore  less  difficulty  in  becoming  constituted 
there.  So  the  essence  of  liberty  is  the  manifestation  and  simul- 
taneous action  of  all  interests,  rights,  powers  and  social  ele- 
ments. England  was  therefore  much  nearer  to  its  possessions 
than  the  majority  of  other  states.  For  the  same  reasons,  na- 
tional good  sense,  the  comprehension  of  public  affairs,  neces- 
sarily formed  themselves  there  more  rapidly  than  elsewhere ; 
political  good  sense  consists  in  knowing  how  to  estimate  all 
facts,  to  appreciate  them,  and  render  to  each  its  share  of  consid- 
eration ;  this,  in  England,  was  a  necessity  of  the  social  state,  a 
natural  result  of  the  course  of  civilization. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  the  continental  states,  each  system,  each 
principle  having  had  its  turn,  having  predominated  after  a  more 
complete  and  more  exclusive  manner,  its  development  was 
wrought  upon  a  larger  scale,  and  with  more  grandeur  and  brill- 
iancy. Royalty  and  feudal  aristocracy,  for  instance,  came  upon 
the  continental  stage  with  far  greater  boldness,  extension  and 
freedom.  Our  political  experiments,  so  to  speak,  have  been 
broader  and  more  finished :  the  result  of  this  has  been  that  politi- 
cal ideas  (I  speak  of  general  ideas,  and  not  of  good  sense  ap- 
plied to  the  conduct  of  affairs)  and  political  doctrines  have  risen 
higher,  and  displayed  themselves  with  much  more  rational 
vigor.  Each  system  having,  in  some  measure,  presented  itself 
alone,  and  having  remained  a  long  time  upon  the  stage,  men 
have  been  enabled  to  consider  it  in  its  entirety,  to  mount  up  to 
its  first  principles,  to  follow  it  out  into  its  last  consequences,  and 
fully  to  unfold  its  theory.  Whoever  attentively  observes  the 
English  character  must  be  struck  with  a  twofold  fact — on  the 
one  hand,  with  the  soundness  of  its  good  sense  and  its  practical 
ability ;  on  the  other,  with  its  lack  of  general  ideas,  and  its  pride 
as  to  theoretical  questions.  Whether  we  open  a  work  upon 
English  history,  upon  jurisprudence,  or  any  other  subject,  it  is 
rarely  that  we  find  the  grand  reason  of  things,  the  fundamental 
reason.  In  all  things,  and  especially  in  the  political  sciences, 
pure  doctrine,  philosophy  and  science,  properly  so  called,  have 
prospered  much  better  on  the  continent  than  in  England  ;  their 
flights  have,  at  least,  been  far  more  powerful  and  bold ;  and  we 
cannot  doubt  but  that  the  different  developments  of  civilization 
in  the  two  countries  have  greatly  contributed  to  this  result. 

For  the  rest,  whatever  we  may  think  of  the  advantages  or  dis- 
advantages which  this  difference  has  entailed,  it  is  a  real  and 
incontestable  fact,  the  fact  which  most  deeply  distinguishes 
England  from  the  continent.     But  it  does  not  follow,  because 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  207 

the  different  principles  and  social  elements  have  been  there  de- 
veloped more  simultaneously,  here  more  successively,  that,  at 
bottom,  the  path  and  the  goal  have  not  been  one  and  the  same. 
Considered  in  their  entirety,  the  continent  and  England  have 
traversed  the  same  grand  phases  of  civilization ;  events  have,  in 
either,  followed  the  same  course,  and  the  same  causes  have  led 
to  the  same  effects.  You  have  been  enabled  to  convince  your- 
selves of  this  fact  from  the  picture  which  I  have  placed  before 
you  of  civilization  up  to  the  sixteenth  century,  and  you  will 
equally  recognize  it  in  studying  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries.  The  development  of  free  inquiry,  and  that  of  pure 
monarchy,  almost  simultaneous  in  England,  accomplished 
themselves  upon  the  continent  at  long  intervals ;  but  they  did 
not  accomplish  themselves,  and  the  two  powers,  after  having 
successively  preponderated  with  splendor,  came  equally,  at  last, 
to  blows.  The  general  path  of  societies,  considering  all  things, 
has  thus  been  the  same,  and  though  the  points  of  difference  are 
real,  those  of  resemblance  are  more  deeply  seated.  A  rapid 
sketch  of  modern  times  will  leave  you  in  no  doubt  upon  this 
subject. 

Glancing  over  the  history  of  Europe  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  it  is  impossible  not  to  perceive  that  France 
has  advanced  at  the  head  of  European  civilization.  At  the 
beginning  of  this  work  I  have  already  insisted  upon  this  fact, 
and  I  have  endeavored  to  point  out  its  cause.  We  shall  now 
find  it  more  striking  than  ever. 

The  principle  of  pure  monarchy,  of  absolute  royalty,  pre- 
dominated in  Spain  under  Charles  V  and  Phillip  II,  before  de- 
veloping itself  in  France  under  Louis  XIV.  In  the  same  man- 
ner the  principle  of  free  inquiry  had  reigned  in  England  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  before  developing  itself  in  France  in  the 
eighteenth.  Nevertheless,  pure  monarchy  and  free  inquiry 
came  not  from  Spain  and  England  to  take  possession  of  the 
world.  The  two  principles,  the  two  systems  remained,  in  a 
manner,  confined  to  the  countries  in  which  they  had  arisen.  It 
was  necessary  that  they  should  pass  through  France  in  order 
that  they  might  extend  their  conquests ;  it  was  necessary  that 
pure  monarchy  and  free  inquiry  should  become  French  in  order 
to  become  European.  This  communicative  character  of  French 
civilization,  this  social  genius  of  France,  which  has  displayed 
itself  at  all  periods,  was  thus  more  than  ever  manifest  at  the 
period  with  which  we  now  occupy  ourselves.  I  will  not  further 
insist  upon  this  fact ;  it  has  been  developed  to  you  with  as  much 
reason  of  brilliancy  in  other  lectures  wherein  you  have  been 
called  upon  to  observe  the  influence  of  French  literature  and 
philosophy  in  the  eighteenth  century.  You  have  seen  that 
philosophic  France  possessed  more  authority  over  Europe,  in 


308  GUIZOT 

regard  to  liberty,  than  even  free  England.  You  have  seen  that 
French  civilization  showed  itself  far  more  active  and  contagious 
than  that  of  any  other  country.  I  need  not,  therefore,  pause 
upon  the  details  of  this  fact,  which  I  mention  only  in  order  to 
rest  upon  it  any  right  to  confine  my  picture  of  modern  European 
civilization  to  France  alone.  Between  the  civilization  of  France 
and  that  of  the  other  states  of  Europe  at  this  period,  there  have, 
no  doubt,  been  differences,  which  it  would  have  been  necessary 
to  bear  in  mind,  if  my  present  purpose  had  been  a  full  and  faith- 
ful exposition  of  the  history  of  those  civilizations ;  but  I  must  go 
on  so  rapidly  that  I  am  compelled  to  omit  entire  nations  and 
ages,  so  to  speak.  I  choose  rather  to  concentrate  your  atten- 
tion for  a  moment  upon  the  course  of  French  civilization,  an 
image,  though  imperfect,  of  the  general  course  of  things  in 
Europe. 

The  influence  of  France  in  Europe  during  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  presents  itself  under  very  different 
aspects.  In  the  former  it  was  French  government  that  acted 
upon  Europe  and  advanced  at  the  head  of  general  civiliza- 
tion. In  the  latter  it  was  no  longer  to  the  government,  but 
France  herself,  that  the  preponderance  belonged.  In  the  first 
case,  it  was  Louis  XIV  and  his  court,  afterward  France  and  her 
opinion,  that  governed  minds  and  attracted  attention.  In  the 
seventeenth  century  there  were  peoples  who,  as  peoples,  ap- 
peared more  prominently  upon  the  scene  and  took  a  greater 
part  in  events,  than  the  French  people.  Thus,  during  the  thirty 
years'  war,  the  German  nation,  in  the  English  revolution,  the 
English  people  played,  in  their  own  destinies,  a  much  greater 
part  than  was  played  at  this  period  by  the  French  in  theirs.  So, 
also,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  there  were  governments 
stronger,  of  greater  consideration  and  more  to  be  dreaded,  than 
the  French  government.  No  doubt  Frederick  II,  Catherine  II 
and  Maria  Theresa,  had  more  influence  and  weight  in  Europe 
than  Louis  XV;  nevertheless,  at  both  periods,  it  was  France 
that  was  at  the  head  of  European  civilization,  placed  there  first, 
by  its  government,  afterward  by  itself;  now  by  the  political 
action  of  its  masters,  now  by  its  peculiar  intellectual  develop- 
ment. 

In  order  to  fully  understand  the  predominant  influence  in  the 
course  of  civilization  in  France,  and  therefore  in  Europe,  we 
must  study,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  French  government,  in 
the  eighteenth,  French  society.  We  must  change  the  plan  and 
the  drama  according  as  time  alters  the  stage  and  the  actors. 

When  we  occupy  ourselvies  with  the  government  of  Louis 
XIV,  when  we  endeavor  to  appreciate  the  causes  of  his  power 
and  influence  in  Europe,  we  scarcely  think  of  anything  but  his 
renown,  his  conquests,  his  magnificence  and  the  literary  glory 


I 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  209 

of  his  time.  It  is  to  external  causes  that  we  apply  ourselves  and 
attribute  the  European  preponderance  of  the  French  govern- 
ment. But  I  conceive  that  this  preponderance  had  deeper  and 
more  serious  foundations.  We  must  not  believe  that  it  was 
simply  by  means  of  victories,  feteSy  or  even  master-works  of 
genius,  that  Louis  XIV  and  his  government,  at  this  epoch, 
played  the  part  which  it  is  impossible  to  deny  them. 

Many  of  you  may  remember,  and  all  of  you  have  heard  speak 
of  the  effect  which  the  consular  government  produced  in  France 
twenty-nine  years  ago,  and  of  the  condition  in  which  it  found 
our  country.  Without  was  impending  foreign  invasion,  and 
continual  disasters  were  occurring  in  our  armies ;  within  was  an 
almost  complete  dissolution  of  power  and  of  the  people ;  there 
were  no  revenues,  no  public  order ;  in  a  word,  society  was  pros- 
trate, humiliated  and  disorganized :  such  was  France  on  the  ad- 
vent of  the  consulate  government.  Who  does  not  recall  the 
prodigious  and  felicitous  activity  of  this  government,  that  ac- 
tivity which,  in  a  little  time,  secured  the  independence  of  the 
land,  revived  national  honor,  reorganized  the  administration, 
remodelled  the  legislation  and,  after  a  manner,  regenerated 
society  under  the  hand  of  power. 

Well,  the  government  of  Louis  XIV  when  it  commenced,  did 
something  analogous  to  this  for  France ;  with  great  differences 
of  times,  proceedings  and  forms,  it  pursued  and  attained  nearly 
the  same  results. 

Recall  to  your  memory  the  state  into  which  France  was  fallen 
after  the  government  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  and  during  the 
minority  of  Louis  XIV :  the  Spanish  armies  always  on  the  fron- 
tiers, sometimes  in  the  interior;  continual  danger  of  an  in- 
vasion ;  internal  dissensions  urged  to  extremity,  civil  war,  the 
government  weak  and  discredited  at  home  and  abroad.  Society 
was  perhaps  in  a  less  violent,  but  still  sufficiently  analogous 
state  to  ours,  prior  to  the  eighteenth  Brumaire.  It  was  from 
this  state  that  the  government  of  Louis  XIV  extricated  France. 
His  first  victories  had  the  effect  of  the  victory  of  Marengo: 
they  secured  the  country,  and  retrieved  the  national  honor.  I 
am  about  to  consider  this  government  under  its  principal 
aspects — in  its  wars,  in  its  external  relations,  in  its  administra- 
tion, and  in  its  legislation ;  and  you  will  see,  I  imagine,  that  the 
comparison  of  which  I  speak,  and  to  which  I  attach  no  puerile 
importance  (for  I  think  very  little  of  the  value  of  historical  par- 
allels), you  will  see,  I  say,  that  this  comparison  has  a  real  founda- 
tion, and  that  I  have  a  right  to  employ  it. 

First  of  all  let  us  speak  of  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV.  The  wars 
of  Europe  have  originated,  as  you  know,  and  as  I  have  often 
taken  occasion  to  remind  you,  in  great  popular  movements. 
Urged  by  necessity,  caprice,  or  any  other  cause,  entire  popula- 

14 


2X0  GUIZOT 

tions,  sometimes  numerous,  sometimes  in  simple  bands,  have 
transported  themselves  from  one  territory  to  another.  This 
was  the  general  character  of  European  wars  until  after  the  cru- 
sades, at  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

At  that  time  began  a  species  of  wars  scarcely  less  diflferent 
from  modern  wars  than  the  above.  These  were  the  distant 
wars,  undertaken  no  longer  by  the  people,  but  by  governments, 
which  went  at  the  head  of  their  armies  to  seek  states  and  ad- 
venturers afar  ofif.  They  quitted  their  countries,  abandoned 
their  own  territories,  and  plunged,  some  into  Germany,  others 
into  Italy,  and  others  into  Africa,  with  no  other  motives  than 
personal  caprice.  Almost  all  the  wars  of  the  fifteenth  and  even 
of  a  part  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  of  this  description.  What 
interest — I  speak  not  of  legitimate  interest — but  what  pos- 
sible motive  had  France  that  Charles  VIII  should  possess  the 
kingdom  of  Naples  ?  This  evidently  was  a  war  dictated  by  no 
political  consideration :  the  king  conceived  that  he  had  a  per- 
sonal right  to  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  and  with  a  personal  aim 
and  to  satisfy  his  personal  desire,  he  undertook  the  conquest  of 
a  distant  country,  which  was  in  no  way  adapted  for  annexation 
to  his  kingdom  ;  which,  on  the  contrary,  did  nothing  but  com- 
promise his  power  externally,  and  internally  his  repose.  It  was 
the  same  with  the  expedition  of  Charles  the  Fifth  to  Africa.  The 
latest  war  of  this  kind  was  the  expedition  of  Charles  XII 
against  Russia.  The  wars  of  Louis  XIV  had  no  such  character ; 
they  were  the  wars  of  a  regular  government,  fixed  in  the  centre 
of  its  states,  and  laboring  to  make  conquests  around  it,  to  extend 
or  consolidate  its  territory ;  in  a  word,  they  were  political  wars. 

They  may  have  been  just  or  unjust ;  they  may  have  cost 
France  too  dearly ;  there  are  a  thousand  reasons  which  might  be 
adduced  against  their  morality  and  their  excess ;  but  they  bear  a 
character  incomparably  more  rational  than  the  antecedent 
wars :  they  were  no  longer  undertaken  for  whim  or  adventure  ; 
they  were  dictated  by  some  serious  motive  ;  it  was  some  natural 
limit  that  it  seemed  desirable  to  attain  ;  some  population  speak- 
ing the  same  language  that  they  aimed  at  annexing ;  some  point 
of  defence  against  a  neighboring  power,  which  it  was  thought 
necessary  to  acquire.  No  doubt  personal  ambition  had  a  share 
in  these  wars;  but  examine  one  after  another  of  the  wars  of 
Louis  XIV,  particularly  those  of  the  first  part  of  his  reign,  and 
you  will  find  that  they  had  truly  political  motives  ;  and  that  they 
were  conceived  for  the  interest  of  France,  for  obtaining  power, 
and  for  the  country's  safety. 

The  results  are  proofs  of  the  fact.  France  of  the  present  day 
is  still,  in  many  respects,  what  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV  have 
made  it.  The  provinces  which  he  conquered,  Franche-Comte, 
Flanders  and  Alsace,  remain  yet  incorporated  with  France. 


CIVILIZATION   IN  EUROPE  211 

There  are  sensible  as  well  as  senseless  conquests:  those  of  Louis 
XIV  were  of  the  former  species ;  his  enterprises  have  not  the  un- 
reasonable and  capricious  character  which,  up  to  this  time,  was 
so  general;  a  skilful,  if  not  always  just  and  wise  poHcy,  presided 
over  them. 

Leaving  the  wars  of  Louis  XIV,  and  passing  to  the  consider- 
ation of  his  relations  with  foreign  states,  of  his  diplomacy,  prop- 
erly so  called,  I  find  an  analogous  result.  I  have  insisted  upon 
the  occurrence  of  the  birth  of  diplomacy  in  Europe  at  the  end  of 
the  fifteenth  century.  I  have  endeavored  to  show  how  the  rela- 
tions of  governments  and  states  between  themselves,  up  to  that 
time  accidental,  rare  and  transitory,  became  at  this  period  more 
regular  and  enduring,  how  they  took  a  character  of  great  pub- 
lic interest;  how,  in  a  word,  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth,  and 
during  the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth  century,  diplomacy  came  to 
play  an  immense  part  in  events.  Nevertheless,  up  to  the  seven- 
teenth century,  it  had  not  been,  truly  speaking,  systematic;  it 
had  not  led  to  long  alliances,  or  to  great,  and,  above  all,  durable 
combinations,  directed,  according  to  fixed  principles,  toward  a 
constant  aim,  with  that  spirit  of  continuity  which  is  the  true 
character  of  established  governments.  During  the  course  of 
the  religious  revolution,  the  external  relations  of  states  were 
almost  completely  under  the  power  of  the  religious  interest;  the 
Protestant  and  CathoHc  leagues  divided  Europe.  It  was  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  after  the  treaty  of  Westphalia,  and  under 
the  influence  of  the  government  of  Louis  XIV,  that  diplomacy 
changed  its  character.  It  then  escaped  from  the  exclusive  in- 
fluences of  the  reHgious  principle;  alliances  and  political  combi- 
nations were  formed  upon  other  considerations.  At  the  same 
time  it  became  much  more  systematic,  regular,  and  constantly 
directed  toward  a  certain  aim,  according  to  permanent  prin- 
ciples. The  regular  origin  of  this  system  of  balance  in  Europe 
belongs  to  this  period.  It  was  under  the  government  of  Louis 
XIV  that  the  system,  together  with  all  the  considerations  at- 
tached to  it,  truly  took  possession  of  European  policy.  When 
we  investigate  what  was  the  general  idea  in  regard  to  this  sub- 
ject, what  was  the  predominating  principle  of  the  policy  of  Louis 
XIV,  I  believe  that  the  following  is  what  we  discover: 

I  have  spoken  of  the  great  struggle  between  the  pure  mon- 
achy  of  Louis  XIV,  aspiring  to  become  universal  monarchy, 
and  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  the  independence  of  states, 
under  the  direction  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  William  III.  You 
have  seen  that  the  great  fact  of  this  period  was  the  division  of  the 
powers  under  these  two  banners.  But  this  fact  was  not  then 
estimated  as  we  estimate  it  now;  it  was  hidden  and  unknown 
even  to  those  who  accomplished  it;  the  suppression  of  the 
system  of  pure  monarchy  and  the  consecration  of  civil  and  re- 


aia  GUIZOT 

ligious  liberty  was,  at  bottom,  the  necessary  result  of  the  resist- 
ance of  Holland  and  its  allies  to  Louis  XIV,  but  the  question 
was  not  thus  openly  enunciated  between  absolute  power  and 
liberty.  It  has  been  often  said  that  the  propagation  of  absolute 
power  was  the  predominant  principle  of  the  diplomacy  of  Louis 
XIV;  but  I  do  not  believe  it.  This  consideration  played  no 
very  great  part  in  his  policy,  until  latterly,  in  his  old  age.  The 
power  of  France,  its  preponderance  in  Europe,  the  humbling  of 
rival  powers,  in  a  word,  the  political  interest  and  strength  of  the 
state,  was  the  aim  which  Louis  XIV  constantly  pursued, 
whether  in  fighting  against  Spain,  the  Emperor  of  Germany  or 
England ;  he  acted  far  less  with  a  view  to  the  propagation  of  ab- 
solute power  than  from  a  desire  for  the  power  and  aggrandize- 
ment of  France  and  of  its  government.  Among  many  proofs,  I 
will  adduce  one  which  emanates  from  Louis  XIV  himself.  In 
his  Memoirs,  under  the  year  1666,  if  I  remember  right,  we  find  a 
note  nearly  in  these  words : 

"  I  have  had,  this  morning,  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Sidney, 
an  English  gentleman,  who  maintained  to  me  the  possibility  of 
reanimating  the  republican  party  in  England.  Mr.  Sidney 
demanded  from  me,  for  that  purpose,  400,000  livres.  I  told  him 
that  I  could  give  no  more  than  200,000.  He  induced  me  to 
summon  from  Switzerland  another  English  gentleman  named 
Ludlow,  and  to  converse  with  him  of  the  same  design." 

And,  accordingly,  we  find  among  the  Memoirs  of  Ludlow, 
about  the  same  date,  a  paragraph  to  this  effect : 

"  I  have  received  from  the  French  government  an  invitation 
to  go  to  Paris,  in  order  to  speak  of  the  affairs  of  my  country ;  but 
I  am  distrustful  of  that  government." 

And  Ludlow  remained  in  Switzerland. 

You  see  that  the  diminution  of  the  royal  power  in  England 
was,  at  this  time,  the  aim  of  Louis  XIV.  He  fomented  internal 
dissensions,  and  labored  to  resuscitate  the  republican  party,  to 
prevent  Charles  II  from  becoming  too  powerful  in  his  country. 
During  the  embassy  of  Barillon  in  England  the  same  fact  con- 
stantly reappears.  Whenever  the  authority  of  Charles  seemed 
to  obtain  the  advantage  and  the  national  party  seemed  on  the 
point  of  being  crushed,  the  French  ambassador  directed  his  in- 
fluence to  this  side,  gave  money  to  the  chiefs  of  the  opposition, 
and  fought,  in  a  word,  against  absolute  power,  when  that 
became  a  means  of  weakening  a  rival  power  to  France.  When- 
ever you  attentively  consider  the  conduct  of  external  relations 
under  Louis  XIV,  it  is  with  this  fact  that  you  will  be  the  most 
struck. 

You  will  also  be  struck  with  the  capacity  and  skill  of  French 
diplomacy  at  this  period.  The  names  of  MM.  de  Torcy, 
d'Avaux,  de  Bonrepos,  are  known  to  all  well-informed  persons. 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  213 

When  we  compare  the  despatches,  the  memoirs,  the  skill  and 
conduct  of  these  counsellors  of  Louis  XIV  with  those  of  Span- 
ish, Portuguese,  and  German  negotiators,  we  must  be  struck 
with  the  superiority  of  the  French  ministers ;  not  only  as  re- 
gards their  earnest  activity  and  their  application  to  affairs,  but 
also  as  regards  their  Hberty  of  spirit.  These  courtiers  of  an 
absolute  king  judged  of  external  events,  of  parties,  of  the  re- 
quirements of  liberty,  and  of  popular  revolutions,  much  better 
even  than  the  majority  of  the  English  ministers  themselves  at 
this  period.  There  was  no  diplomacy  in  Europe  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  which  appears  equal  to  the  French,  except  the 
Dutch.  The  ministers  of  John  de  Witt  and  of  William  of 
Orange,  those  illustrious  chiefs  of  the  party  of  civil  and  re- 
ligious liberty,  were  the  only  ministers  who  seemed  in  con- 
dition to  wrestle  with  the  servants  of  the  great  and  absolute 
king. 

You  see,  then,  that  whether  we  consider  the  wars  of  Louis 
XIV,  or  his  diplomatical  relations  we  arrive  at  the  same  results. 
We  can  easily  conceive  that  a  government,  which  conducted 
its  wars  and  negotiations  in  this  manner,  should  have  assumed 
a  high  standing  in  Europe,  and  presented  itself  therein,  not  only 
as  dreadworthy,  but  as  skilful  and  imposing. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  interior  of  France,  the  administra- 
tion and  legislation  of  Louis  XIV;  we  shall  there  discern  new 
explanations  of  the  power  and  splendor  of  his  government. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  with  any  degree  of  precision  what 
we  ought  to  understand  by  administration  in  the  government 
of  a  state.  Nevertheless,  when  we  endeavor  to  investigate 
this  fact,  we  discover,  I  believe,  that,  under  the  most  general 
point  of  view,  administration  consists  in  an  aggregate  of  means 
destined  to  propel,  as  promptly  and  certainly  as  possible,  the 
will  of  the  central  power  through  all  parts  of  society,  and  to 
make  the  force  of  society,  whether  consisting  of  men  or  money, 
return  again,  under  the  same  conditions,  to  the  central  power. 
This,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  true  aim,  the  predominant  charac- 
teristic of  administration.  Accordingly  we  find  that  in  times 
when  it  is  above  all  things  needful  to  establish  unity  and  order 
in  society,  administration  is  the  chief  means  of  attaining  this 
end,  of  bringing  together,  of  cementing,  and  of  uniting  inco- 
herent and  scattered  elements.  Such,  in  fact,  was  the  work  of 
the  administration  of  Louis  XIV.  Up  to  this  time,  there 
had  been  nothing  so  difficult,  in  France  as  in  the 
rest  of  Europe,  as  to  effect  the  penetration  of  the  action 
of  the  central  power  into  all  parts  of  society,  and  to  gather 
into  the  bosom  of  the  central  power  the  means  of  force 
existing  in  society.  To  this  end  Louis  XIV  labored,  and 
succeeded,  up  to  a  certain  point ;  incomparably  better,  at  least, 


214 


GUIZOT 


than  preceding  governments  had  done.  I  cannot  enter  into 
details :  just  run  over,  in  thought,  all  kinds  of  public  services, 
taxes,  roads,  industry,  military  administration,  all  the  estab- 
lishments which  belong  to  whatsoever  branch  of  administra- 
tion ;  there  is  scarcely  one  of  which  you  do  not  find  either  the 
origin,  development,  or  great  amelioration  under  Louis  XIV. 
It  was  as  administrators  that  the  greatest  men  of  his  time, 
Colbert  and  Louvois,  displayed  their  genius  and  exercised  their 
ministry.  It  was  by  the  excellence  of  its  administration  that 
his  government  acquired  a  generality,  decision,  and  consistency 
which  were  wanting  to  all  the  European  governments  around 
him. 

Under  the  legislative  point  of  view  this  reign  presents  to  you 
the  same  fact.  I  return  to  the  comparison  which  I  have  al- 
ready made  use  of,  to  the  legislative  activity  of  the  consular 
government,  to  its  prodigious  work  of  revising  and  generally 
recasting  the  laws.  A  work  of  the  same  nature  took  place 
under  Louis  XIV.  The  great  ordinances  which  he  promul- 
gated, the  criminal  ordinances,  the  ordinances  of  procedure, 
commerce,  the  marine,  waters,  and  woods,  are  true  codes, 
which  were  constructed  in  the  same  manner  as  our  codes,  dis- 
cussed in  the  council  of  state,  some  of  them  under  the  presi- 
dency of  Lamoignon.  There  are  men  whose  glory  consists 
in  having  taken  part  in  this  labor  and  this  discussion,  M.  Pus- 
sort,  for  instance.  If  we  were  to  consider  it  in  itself,  we  should 
have  much  to  say  against  the  legislation  of  Louis  XIV;  it  was 
full  of  vices,  which  now  fully  declare  themselves,  and  which  no 
one  can  deny ;  it  was  not  conceived  in  the  interest  of  true  justice 
and  of  liberty,  but  in  the  interest  of  public  order,  and  for  giving 
more  regularity  and  firmness  to  the  laws.  But  even  that  was 
a  great  progress ;  and  we  cannot  doubt  but  that  the  ordinances 
of  Louis  XIV,  so  very  superior  to  anything  preceding  them, 
powerfully  contributed  to  advance  French  society  in  the  career 
of  civilization. 

You  see  that  under  whatever  point  of  view  we  regard  this 
government,  we  very  soon  discover  the  source  of  its  power  and 
influence.  It  was  the  first  government  that  presented  itself  to 
the  eyes  of  Europe  as  a  power  sure  of  its  position,  which  had 
not  to  dispute  its  existence  with  internal  enemies — tranquil  as 
to  its  dominions  and  the  people,  and  intent  only  on  governing. 
Up  to  that  time  all  European  governments  had  been  unceasing- 
ly thrown  into  wars,  which  deprived  them  of  security  as  well  as 
leisure,  or  had  been  so  beset  with  parties  and  internal  enemies 
that  they  were  compelled  to  spend  their  time  in  fighting  for 
their  lives.  The  government  of  Louis  XIV  appeared  as  the 
first  which  applied  itself  solely  to  the  conduct  of  affairs,  as  a 
power  at  once  definitive  and  progressive ;  which  was  not  afraid 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  215 

of  innovating,  because  it  could  count  upon  the  future.  There 
have,  in  fact,  existed  very  few  governments  of  such  an  inno- 
vating spirit.  Compare  it  with  a  government  of  the  same 
nature,  with  the  pure  monarchy  of  Phihp  II  in  Spain ;  it  was 
more  absolute  than  that  of  Louis  XIV,  and  yet  far  less  regular 
and  less  tranquil.  But  how  did  Philip  II  succeed  in  establish- 
ing absolute  power  in  Spain?  By  stifling  the  activity  of  the 
country,  by  refusing  to  it  every  species  of  amelioration,  by  ren- 
dering the  condition  of  Spain  completely  stationary.  The  gov- 
ernment of  Louis  XIV,  on  the  contrary,  showed  itself  active 
in  all  kinds  of  innovations,  favorable  to  the  progress  of  letters, 
of  arts,  of  riches,  and,  in  a  word,  of  civilization.  These  are  the 
true  causes  of  its  preponderance  in  Europe;  a  preponderance 
such  that  it  became  upon  the  continent,  during  the  whole  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  the  type  of  government,  not  only  for  sov- 
ereigns, but  even  for  nations. 

And  now  we  inquire — and  it  is  impossible  to  help  doing  so — 
how  it  happened  that  a  power,  thus  brilliant,  and,  judging  from 
the  facts  which  I  have  placed  before  you,  thus  well  established, 
so  rapidly  fell  into  decline  ?  How,  after  having  played  such  a 
part  in  Europe,  it  became,  in  the  next  century,  so  inconsistent, 
weak,  and  inconsiderable  ?  The  fact  is  incontestable.  In  the 
seventeenth  century  the  French  government  was  at  the  head 
of  European  civilization;  in  the  eighteenth  century  it  disap- 
peared ;  and  it  was  French  society,  separated  from  its  govern- 
ment, often  even  opposed  to  it,  that  now  preceded  and  guided 
the  European  world  in  its  progress. 

It  is  here  that  we  discover  the  incorrigible  evil  and  the  in- 
fallible effect  of  absolute  power.  I  will  not  go  into  any  detail 
concerning  the  faults  of  the  government  of  Louis  XIV ;  he  com- 
mitted many;  I  will  speak  neither  of  the  war  of  the  Spanish 
succession,  nor  of  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes,  nor 
of  excessive  expenses,  nor  of  many  other  of  the  fatal  measures 
that  compromised  his  fortunes.  I  will  take  the  merits  of  the; 
government  as  I  have  described  them.  I  will  agree  that  per- 
haps there  has  never  existed  an  absolute  power  more  fully  rec- 
ognized by  its  age  and  nation,  nor  one  which  has  rendered  more 
real  services  to  the  civilization  of  its  country  and  of  Europe  in 
general.  But,  by  the  very  fact  that  this  government  had  no 
other  principle  than  absolute  power,  and  reposed  upon  no  other 
base  than  this,  its  decline  became  sudden  and  well  merited. 
What  France,  under  Louis  XIV,  essentially  wanted,  was  po- 
litical institutions  and  forces,  independent,  subsisting  of  them- 
selves, and,  in  a  word,  capable  of  spontaneous  action  and  re- 
sistance. The  ancient  French  institutions,  if  they  merited  that 
name,  no  longer  existed :  Louis  XIV  completed  their  ruin.  He 
took  no  care  to  endeavor  to  replace  them  by  new  institutions ; 


2i6  GUIZOT 

they  would  have  cramped  him,  and  he  did  not  choose  to  be 
cramped.  All  that  appeared  conspicuous  at  that  period  was 
will,  and  the  action  of  central  power.  The  government  of 
Louis  XIV  was  a  great  fact,  a  fact  powerful  and  splendid,  but 
without  roots. 

Free  institutions  are  a  guarantee,  not  only  of  the  wisdom 
of  governments,  but  also  of  their  duration.  No  system 
can  endure  except  by  means  of  institutions.  When  absolute 
power  has  endured,  it  has  been  supported  by  true  in- 
stitutions, sometimes  by  the  division  of  society  into  strongly 
distinct  castes,  sometimes  by  a  system  of  religious  institutions. 
Under  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV  institutions  were  wanting  to 
power  as  well  as  to  Hberty.  In  France,  at  this  period,  nothing 
guaranteed  either  the  country  against  the  illegitimate  actions 
of  the  government,  or  the  government  itself  against  the  inevita- 
ble action  of  time.  Thus  we  see  the  government  helping  on 
its  own  decay.  It  was  not  Louis  XIV  alone  who  was  becoming 
aged  and  weak  at  the  end  of  his  reign :  it  was  the  whole  abso- 
lute power.  Pure  monarchy  was  as  much  worn  out  in  171 2  as 
was  the  monarch  himself :  and  the  evil  was  so  much  the  more 
grave,  as  Louis  XIV  had  abolished  political  morals  as  well  as 
political  institutions.  There  are  no  political  morals  without 
independence.  He  alone  who  feels  that  he  has  a  strength  of 
his  own  is  always  capable  either  of  serving  or  opposing  power. 
Energetic  characters  disappear  with  independent  situations, 
and  dignity  of  soul  alone  gives  birth  to  security  of  rights. 

This,  then,  is  the  state  in  which  Louis  XIV  left  France  and 
power:  a  society  in  full  development  of  riches,  power  and  all 
kinds  of  intellecttial  activity;  and  side  by  side  with  this  pro- 
gressive society,  a  government  essentially  stationary,  having 
no  means  of  renewing  itself,  of  adapting  itself  to  the  move- 
ment of  its  people  ;  devoted,  after  half  a  century  of  the  greatest 
splendor,  to  immobility  and  weakness,  and  already,  during  the 
life  of  its  founder,  fallen  into  a  decline  which  seemed  like  disso- 
lution. Such  was  the  condition  of  France  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  a  condition  which  impressed  the 
epoch  that  followed  with  a  direction  and  a  character  so  dif- 
ferent 

I  need  hardly  say  that  the  onward  impulse  of  the  human 
mind,  that  free  inquiry  was  the  predominating  feature,  the  es- 
sential fact  of  the  eighteenth  century.  You  have  already  heard 
much  concerning  this  fact  from  this  chair;  already  you  have 
heard  that  powerful  epoch  characterized  by  a  philosophical  ora- 
tor, and  by  that  of  an  eloquent  philosopher.  I  cannot  pretend, 
in  the  short  space  of  time  which  remains  to  me,  to  trace  all 
the  phases  of  the  great  moral  revolution  which  then  accom- 
plished itself,     I  would,  nevertheless,  fain  not  leave  you  with- 


CIVILIZATION  IN  EUROPE  217 

out  calling  your  attention  to  some  characteristics  which  have 
been  too  little  remarked  upon. 

The  first — one  which  strikes  me  most,  and  which  I  have 
already  mentioned — is  the,  so  to  speak,  almost  complete  dis- 
appearance of  the  government  in  the  course  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  the  appearance  of  the  human  mind  as  the  prin- 
cipal and  almost  the  only  actor. 

Except  in  that  which  is  connected  with  external  relations  un- 
der the  ministry  of  the  Due  de  Choiseul,  and  in  certain  great 
concessions  made  to  the  general  tendency  of  opinion,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  American  war;  except,  I  say,  in  some  events  of 
this  nature,  perhaps  there  has  scarcely  ever  been  so  inactive, 
apathetic  and  inert  a  government  as  was  the  French  govern- 
ment of  this  period.  Instead  of  the  energetic,  ambitious  gov- 
ernment of  Louis  XIV  which  appeared  everywhere,  and  put 
itself  at  the  head  of  everything,  you  have  a  government  which 
labored  only  to  hide  itself,  to  keep  itself  in  the  background, 
so  weak  and  compromised  did  it  feel  itself  to  be.  Activity  and 
ambition  had  passed  over  wholly  to  the  people.  It  was  the 
nation  which,  by  its  opinion  and  its  intellectual  movement, 
mingled  itself  with  all  things,  interfered  in  all,  and,  in  short, 
alone  possessed  moral  authority,  which  is  the  only  true  au- 
thority. 

A  second  characteristic  which  strikes  me,  in  the  condition 
of  the  human  mind  in  the  eighteenth  century,  is  the  universality 
of  free  inquiry.  Up  to  that  time,  and  particularly  in  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  free  inquiry  had  been  exercised  within  a  lim- 
ited and  partial  field;  it  had  had  for  its  object  sometimes  re- 
ligious questions,  sometimes  religious  and  political  questions 
together,  but  it  did  not  extend  its  pretensions  to  all  subjects.  In 
the  eighteenth  century,  on  the  contrary,  the  character  of  free 
inquiry  is  universality ;  religion,  politics,  pure  philosophy,  man 
and  society,  moral  and  material  nature,  all  at  the  same  time  be- 
came the  object  of  study,  doubt  and  system;  ancient  sciences 
were  overturned,  new  sciences  were  called  into  existence.  The 
movement  extended  itself  in  all  directions,  although  it  had 
emanated  from  one  and  the  same  impulse. 

This  movement,  moreover,  had  a  peculiar  character;  one 
which,  perhaps,  is  not  to  be  met  elsewhere  in  the  history  of 
the  world ;  it  was  purely  speculative.  Up  to  that  time,  in  all 
great  human  revolutions,  action  had  commingled  itself  with 
speculation.  Thus,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the  religious  rev- 
olution began  with  ideas,  with  purely  intellectual  discussions, 
but  it  very  soon  terminated  in  events.  The  heads  of  intellec- 
tual parties  soon  became  the  heads  of  political  parties;  the 
realities  of  life  were  mixed  with  the  labor  of  the  understanding. 
Thus,  too,  it  happened  in  the  seventeenth  century,  in  the  Eng- 


2i8  GUIZOT 

lish  revolution.  But  in  France,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  you 
find  the  human  spirit  exercising  itself  upon  all  things,  upon 
ideas  which,  connecting  themselves  with  the  real  interests  of 
life,  seemed  calculated  to  have  the  most  prompt  and  powerful 
influence  upon  facts.  Nevertheless,  the  leaders  and  actors  of 
these  great  discussions  remained  strangers  to  all  species  of 
practical  activity — mere  spectators,  who  observed,  judged  and 
spoke,  without  ever  interfering  in  events.  At  no  other  time 
has  the  government  of  facts,  of  external  realities,  been  so 
completely  distinct  from  the  government  of  minds.  The  sep- 
aration of  the  spiritual  and  temporal  orders  was  never  com- 
pletely real  in  Europe  until  the  eighteenth  century.  For  the 
first  time,  perhaps,  the  spiritual  order  developed  itself  wholly 
apart  from  the  temporal  order;  an  important  fact,  and  one 
which  exercised  a  prodigious  influence  upon  the  course  of 
events. 

It  gave  to  the  ideas  of  the  time  a  singular  character  of 
ambition  and  inexperience ;  never  before  had  philosophy 
aspired  so  strongly  to  rule  the  world,  never  had  philosophy 
been  so  little  acquainted  with  the  world.  It  became  obvious 
that  a  day  must  arrive  for  coming  to  facts ;  for  the  intellectual 
movement  to  pass  into  external  events ;  and  as  they  had  been 
totally  separated,  their  meeting  was  the  more  difficult,  the  shock 
far  more  violent. 

How  can  we  now  be  surprised  with  another  character  of 
the  condition  of  the  human  mind  at  this  epoch,  I  mean  its  pro- 
digious boldness?  Up  to  that  time  its  greatest  activity  had 
always  been  confined  by  certain  barriers  ;  the  mind  of  man  had 
always  existed  amid  facts,  whereof  some  inspired  it  with  cau- 
tion, and,  to  a  certain  extent,  checked  its  movements.  In  the 
eighteenth  century,  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  say  what  external 
facts  the  human  mind  respected,  or  what  external  facts  exer- 
cised any  empire  over  it ;  it  hated  or  despised  the  entire  social 
state.  It  concluded,  therefore,  that  it  was  called  upon  to  re- 
form all  things ;  it  came  to  consider  itself  a  sort  of  creator ; 
institutions,  opinions,  manners,  society,  and  man  himself,  all 
seemed  to  require  reform,  and  human  reason  charged  itself 
with  the  enterprise.  What  audacity  equal  to  this  had  ever  be- 
fore been  imagined  by  it ! 

Such  was  the  power  which,  in  the  course  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  confronted  what  still  remained  of  the  government  of 
Louis  XIV.  You  perceive  that  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  the 
occurrence  of  a  shock  between  these  two  so  unequal  forces. 
The  predominant  fact  of  the  English  revolution,  the  struggle 
between  free  inquiry  and  pure  monarchy,  was  now  also  to  burst 
forth  in  France.  No  doubt  the  differences  were  great,  and 
these  necessarily  perpetuated  themselves  in  the  results;   but, 


CIVILIZATION   IN   EUROPE  219 

at  bottom,  the  general  conditions  were  similar,  and  the  defini- 
tive event  had  the  same  meaning. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  exhibit  the  infinite  consequences  of  this 
struggle.  The  time  for  concluding  this  course  of  lectures  has 
arrived ;  I  must  check  myself.  I  merely  desire,  before  leaving 
you,  to  call  your  attention  to  the  most  grave,  and,  in  my  opinion, 
the  most  instructive  fact  which  was  revealed  to  us  by  this  great 
struggle.  This  is  the  danger,  the  evil,  and  the  insurmountable 
vice  of  absolute  power,  whatever  form,  whatever  name  it  may 
bear,  and  toward  whatever  aim  it  may  direct  itself.  You  have 
seen  that  the  government  of  Louis  XIV  perished  by  almost 
this  cause  only.  Well,  the  power  which  succeeded  it,  the  human 
mind,  the  true  sovereign  of  the  eighteenth  century,  suffered  the 
same  fate ;  in  its  turn,  it  possessed  an  almost  absolute  power ;  it, 
in  its  turn,  placed  an  excessive  confidence  in  itself.  Its  on- 
ward impulse  was  beautiful,  good,  most  useful;  and  were  it 
necessary  that  I  should  express  a  definitive  opinion,  I  should 
say  that  the  eighteenth  century  appears  to  me  to  have  been 
one  of  the  greatest  ages  of  history,  that  which,  perhaps,  has  done 
the  greatest  services  for  humanity,  that  which  has  in  the  great- 
est degree  aided  its  progress,  and  rendered  that  progress  of  the 
most  general  character :  were  I  asked  to  pronounce  upon  it  as  a 
public  administration,  I  should  pronounce  in  its  favor.  But  it  is 
not  the  less  true  that,  at  this  epoch,  the  human  mind,  possessed 
of  absolute  power,  became  corrupted  and  misled  by  it;  hold- 
ing established  facts  and  former  ideas  in  an  illegitimate  disdain 
and  aversion ;  an  aversion  which  carried  it  into  error  and  tyr- 
anny. The  share  of  error  and  tyranny,  indeed,  which  mingled 
itself  with  the  triumph  of  human  reason,  at  the  end  of  this  cen- 
tury, a  portion  which  we  cannot  conceal  from  ourselves,  was 
very  great  and  which  we  must  proclaim  and  not  deny;  this 
portion  of  error  and  tyranny  was  chiefly  the  result  of  extrava- 
gance into  which  the  mind  of  man  had  been  thrown,  at  this 
period,  by  the  extension  of  his  power. 

It  is  the  duty,  and,  I  believe,  it  will  be  the  peculiar  merit  of 
our  times,  to  know  that  all  power,  whether  intellectual  or  tem- 
poral, whether  belonging  to  governments  or  people,  to  philos- 
ophers or  ministers,  whether  exercising  itself  in  one  cause  or 
in  another,  bears  within  itself  a  natural  vice,  a  principle  of  weak- 
ness and  of  abuse  which  ought  to  render  it  limited.  Now 
nothing  but  the  general  freedom  of  all  rights,  all  interests  and 
all  opinions,  the  free  manifestation  and  legal  co-existence  of  all 
these  forces,  can  ever  restrain  each  force  and  each  power  within 
its  legitimate  limits,  prevent  it  from  encroaching  on  the  rest, 
and,  in  a  word,  cause  the  real  and  generally  profitable  existence 
of  free  inquiry.  Herein  consists  for  us  the  grand  lesson  of 
the  struggle  which  occurred  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 


2  20  GUIZOT 

tury,  between  absolute  temporal  power  and  absolute  spiritual 
power. 

I  have  now  arrived  at  the  term  which  I  proposed  to  myself. 
You  remember  that  my  object  in  commencing  this  course  was 
to  present  you  with  a  general  picture  of  the  development  of 
European  civilization,  from  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  to 
our  own  days.  I  have  traversed  this  career  very  rapidly  and 
without  being  able  to  inform  you,  far  from  it,  of  all  that  was 
important,  or  to  bring  proofs  of  all  that  I  have  said.  I  have 
been  compelled  to  omit  much  and  often  to  request  you  to  be- 
lieve me  upon  my  word.  I  hope,  nevertheless,  that  I  have  at- 
tained my  aim,  which  was  to  mark  the  grand  crisis  in  the  de- 
velopment of  modern  society.    Allow  me  yet  one  word  more. 

I  endeavored,  in  the  beginning,  to  define  civilization  and  to 
describe  the  fact  which  bears  this  name.  Civilization  seemed 
to  me  to  consist  of  two  principal  facts:  the  development  of 
human  society  and  that  of  man  himself ;  on  the  one  hand,  po- 
litical and  social  development ;  on  the  other,  internal  and  moral 
development.  I  have  confined  myself  so  far  to  the  history  of 
society.  I  have  presented  civilization  only  under  the  social 
point  of  view;  and  have  said  nothing  of  the  development  of 
man  himself.  I  have  not  endeavored  to  unfold  to  you  the 
history  of  opinions,  of  the  moral  progress  of  humanity.  I  pro- 
pose, when  we  meet  again,  to  confine  myself  especially  to 
France,  to  study  with  you  the  history  of  French  civilization,  to 
study  it  in  detail  and  under  its  various  aspects.  I  shall  en- 
deavor to  make  you  acquainted,  not  only  with  the  history  of 
society  in  France,  but  also  with  that  of  man  ;  to  be  present  with 
you  at  the  progress  of  institutions,  of  opinions  and  of  intellectual 
works  of  all  kinds;  and  to  arrive  thus  at  a  complete  under- 
standing of  the  development  of  our  glorious  country  in  its 
entirety.  In  the  past,  as  well  as  in  the  future,  our  country  may 
well  lay  claim  to  our  tenderest  affections. 


I 


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